


Crossroads

by XScribe



Series: Gobsmacked [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic Disputes, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Original Male Character - Freeform, Oxford, Pre-X-Files, Sexual Harassment, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XScribe/pseuds/XScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perry continues to struggle with an offer he finds difficult to refuse as he and Fox take their summer holiday in New England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SiberianSkys.

**FRIDAY -- DECEMBER 25 CHRISTMAS DAY**

**PERRY**

Stepping out into the corridor, we shut the large double doors of our grandfather's study behind us. Then Wyeth and I hesitated a moment in shock. From downstairs, we could hear strands of the orchestra's rendition of "The Christmas Song" drifting up from ballroom. We both looked at each other.

As children, we'd raced up and down the corridors of our grandfather's huge estate in play every Christmas with our cousins. The years melted 'way; suddenly we had all the more reason to celebrate with a reckless abandon we could never have fathomed in our youth. Wyeth seized the sleeve of my tux and yanked me off down the corridor, both of us struggling not to whoop.

We didn't stop until we were far enough away from the study on the chance that one of our uncles may be listening through the doors. In the vast house, which we knew well from our explorations as children it was easy enough to find some solitude. We dashed through the single door that stood ajar of another set of double ones leading into the east wing of the house.

"Cor blimey!" Wyeth gushed quietly. "We're gonna be rich! We're gonna be stinking filthy rich! We're going to be able to afford crap like this." He swept a hand broadly to indicate the opulent ornate furnishings and decor around us. "And cars? We'll each have a fleet. Just think!"

It was a very exciting picture. After dinner once the festivities opened up in the ballroom with live music and the tended, well stocked bar, our two eldest uncles had discreetly taken Wyeth and me aside. Baffled all we could do was shrug at our partners to be escorted off.

We were taken to the study where a fire crackled on the large hearth and our grandfather awaited us sitting at his desk. When we were kids, we used to marvel outside the doors of the study. For one, Grandfather Elden-Beck didn't permit children in the room. That made us all the more curious for a look into the forbidden vault. Inside we'd discovered a museum-like atmosphere with locked glass-door cabinets and shelves and shelves of books up to the ceiling with ladders on rails through which to access them and what had seemed like a spectacular balcony on one end. When we were old enough to know better than to wreak havoc in the room we were finally permitted a look around inside.

It was there in that study--that Christmas--that we were bequeathed a gift that could profoundly change the rest of our lives.

As insignificant as we thought we were to the family, we discovered that our education and Wyeth's career such as it was so far were all being scrutinized by the Elden-Becks. To our astonishment, my brother was offered the opportunity to join the family firm. With it, he would receive a demonstrable increase in salary and the family's fortune would thereupon become available for any need he may have from then on. Already our grandfather proposed to buy him a new tailored wardrobe and motorcar for the job. The same offer was put to me upon graduation.

Never before had fortune struck as any consequence to us. If our parents had had less and couldn't have afforded the luxuries they did have it wouldn't have made any difference to us. Despite that, Dad's family had wealth we'd never envied because we honestly didn't care.

The prospect was too much for either of us to believe. It wasn't like a dream come true--we'd never had such a dream. I couldn't even imagine how it would change my future because it was too wild a concept.

In our shock, all we could do was laugh. I started coughing of course owing to my recent bout of bronchitis and did my best to suppress it. Fleets of cars? Fancy houses filled with expensive tapestries and artwork? I thought of Fox for a crazy moment; he wouldn't have to go back home to his cold fish of a father. He could live with me and have a family who truly appreciated him. Well, except for Wyeth but everything couldn't be perfect.

**SATURDAY -- DECEMBER 26, BOXING DAY**

The next morning after Fox and I had both showered and shaved, I couldn't keep it secret any longer. The thing was, Wyeth and I had both agreed not to tell anyone about our grandfather's offer until we'd thought it out, thoroughly. Even if it took us weeks or months. We'd start researching into all the legal options we could expect and demand and wouldn't sign any contracts before then.

It wasn't like me, either. I'd never been the sort to divulge secrets. There was a good reason to tell Fox, though. In general, he was smart, practical, and sensible. Part of me had this daft desire to somehow impart some benefit of my future wealth to him. It was silly--we'd long have gone our own ways by the time I graduated and any of it would come to fruition. At any rate, the whole concept was so improbable I needed his judgment to help sort it out.

Since we learned Mum had sussed us out, Fox had been treating me standoffish any time she was in range. Overnight, he'd insisted on sleeping with the bedroom door ajar. I'd teased him about it, though I had no plan to put up with it for long.

So when I returned to my room to dress after my shower, I found him half dressed, the door still standing ajar. Entering, I shut it behind me so I could take off my dressing gown to do the job. However, he paced restlessly back to the door and pulled it open.

"What you doing?" I asked, my belt open, preparing to slide my gown off my shoulders. Taking the couple of steps back, I pressed the door shut again. It wasn't for modesty that I wanted privacy, but to announce my grandfather's proposition.

Taking the knob, he explained. "If your mom should come by, I don't want her getting the wrong idea..."

"Don't be daft; we're just getting dressed." I held the door shut.

Not looking at me, long lashes lowered, he kept pulling while I held. "Yeah, but she might think..."

I laughed. "So you'd rather she came by and saw you stark naked?"

"I kept my robe on until I put my pants on."

"That's right silly," I further scoffed. "If you think for a minute this door is never gonna be shut again, you're downright mad."

"I didn't exactly say that. I mean, just when she's around."

"She lives here, you twit."

"We're only going to be here another couple of weeks. I'd just rather we kept the door open when she's home."

Having a matter a bit more important to discuss I took his arm, leaving the door as he preferred, and led him to the wardrobe. Keeping my voice down, I dressed while I told him.

Thoughtfully, he drew on his shirt while he listened. The moment he started to stroll off, I caught him.

"Now, wait," I cautioned. "No else is to know about this until Wyeth and I have it sorted."

"But, your father--"

"Particularly my father. How do you think he's going to feel once he learns Wyeth is planning to quit his firm and I won't be joining it at all?"

Watching me throw my dressing gown aside once I'd zipped up my trousers, Fox thought a moment longer. When he answered, it was surprisingly adamant. "I think it's a lousy idea."

From beneath my shirt collar, I freed my wet hair and blinked at him. "You do?"

"You'd have to give up your art."

"Not really. I'll have enough money not to have to work five days a week, ten hours a day. I can take the cases I want and leave myself time to faff about with the art."

"Faff about?" he snapped quietly. "You should be concentrating on your art, not wasting your time and talent studying law."

"It's time I got realistic about this. I can't buy a house or a Bentley painting and drawing pictures."

"Your mother seems to make a pretty good living with her artistic talent."

"She does pretty well, being as she's got a husband who earns an even better living. It's only lately that she's come into steady work. All while I was growing up, she'd be without work for months at a time. How would she have gotten on without my dad's income? It was the best thing in the world for my mum that my dad fell in love with her. Even if his family wasn't pleased about it, he had a career background to support the both of them so she could pursue her art. Should I find myself a girl studying a good profession? Or better yet one with a wealthy family behind her?"

"You give up your art and you'll waste your talent."

"Then you think I should get a girl like that?" I half bantered.

"No, whenever you get married, do it for love and nothing else. You should at least have that, because I know you'll never be happy practicing law." He went to the chest of drawers.

To keep from being overheard from the hall, I followed him. It seemed odd that he should try and talk me out of such a sensible opportunity. I hadn't expected that at all considering he was the practical one between us. "Let's say we make a pact. We'll write up a contract. When I've settled into the family practice and all this starts to come about I'd like to give you a gift for some X amount. Just because we're mates."

Promptly standing upright, his lovely hazel eyes roved over me, aghast. "Are you crazy? I don't want any money. The only thing I'd ever want from you would be to learn one day that you turned down your grandfather's offer and studied art. I realize you have the right to tell me to fuck off, but if you really want to give me a gift, that would be it."

Having no idea what to make of any of it, I studied him. "Is that what you really think I should do? You're the genius here."

"Yeah, that's what I really think." No less annoyed, he backed to the bed with a pair of socks and terminated the discussion.

Last Boxing Day Camille had spent with her rellies and she did the same that year. So it came as no surprise when Wyeth returned home from Christmas dinner alone. Without her there to distract him, I became his main source of entertainment for the weekend.

Boxing Day should have been ample distraction for him at Mum's rellies all day. I guess he'd felt that I'd rather neglected him almost the entire holiday and the truth was, I had. At any rate, with Fox making like a skittish prude around me and a guilty schoolboy around Mum, there was no doubt who'd provide far better company. Hopefully, Fox would see what a silly twit he was acting and snap out of it all the sooner.

**MONDAY -- DECEMBER 28**

Come Monday, Dad and Wyeth returned to the office and Mum officially started work on her latest film project. With Dot still off for the holidays, Fox and I had the whole house to ourselves till dinner. The abstinence must have gotten to him; we started off in the drawing room, the Christmas tree and decorations as backdrop. After spending most of the day in no more than a shirt at best, playing at each other and having sex, I was shattered by the time I had to start fixing dinner for all of us. Apparently, Fox was too. Even so, he helped me with preparation and wash-up.

In front of Mum, he went right skittish around us again. Fuck, if I hadn't been too tired to give a damn, I would have snogged him right there at the dinner table in front of both my parents.

The bedroom door stayed open that night, just as it had the past three nights. The next day, around doing housework and putting up some of the Christmas decorations, we couldn't leave off each other. Except that we actually got some work done, we practically had a repeat of the previous day.

**WEDNESDAY -- DECEMBER 30**

Wednesday, Mum got home from London earlier than Dad. Fox and I were in the kitchen, making dinner when she rushed in, excited.

Scarcely out of her Wellies and still in her raincoat, she held several glossy photos atop a large manila envelope. She was rifling through a stack. "Monday I took the film to Clyde Hastings--you know, Perry. The photographer? Well, I had him develop two copies of the ones I took of you in your tuxedos--one for me and one for you to keep." Coming to the counter, she gushed. "Now don't you two look just lovely?"

The photos she'd snapped of me and Fox in our tuxedos lay right on top. He hadn't been cooperative and it had taken me a bit to work up the nerve in front of my mum, but I'd managed to kiss him square on the mouth before he got too agitated. The captured view of that kiss surprised me; I hadn't thought it that passionate, fleeting as it was. Our eyes were shut dreamily, my mouth was open, and Fox's sweet pout had yielded to me.

Mum sighed. "Oh, dear. How romantic."

I couldn't help but feel a little of the discomfort Fox had been exhibiting since she'd taken the photos. I mean I didn't expect my mum to so readily accept that I'd turned out queer. Clearing my throat, I glanced toward Fox.

He was gone.

Bollocks. He been further upset and thus, I had to apologize for his rude behavior as well as live with the consequences. He'd probably want to end it. As it was, I knew he'd never been all that comfortable about the sex. "Well, that's it, then," I mumbled, turning back to the cooker. "You've finished scaring him off."

Beside me, Mum gawped about the room. Hastily, she crammed the photos back in the envelope. "Oh, darling, no. That's not what I intended, at all. I-I--"

"Didn't you, though?" I wouldn't look at her.

"You've got it all wrong, love. I see how things haven't been the same between you two. Your door's always wide open any more and he's taken to acting like a scared rabbit 'round you. I thought if I reassured him that's it's all right with me--"

"Why all of a sudden?" I snapped. "After you were pushing him after that slag he was chasing?"

"I'm afraid I hadn't caught on then." Picking up the slotted spoon, she stirred at the potatoes. "I-I thought he really liked her...and Fox is such a sweet boy, I hated to see him disappointed. Anyway, it was your dad who really did all the pushing. I saw you didn't care for her, but I didn't understand what was going on at the time. I'm so sorry, Precious. Can you forgive your old mum for being so dense?"

When she tried kissing my jaw, I pulled from her. "It's a bit late now, isn't it? He's not exactly been comfortable with it then you have to go and embarrass him like this. I wouldn't be surprised if he went upstairs to pack and move back to Oxford the rest of the holiday."

In the next moment, she was behind me, accidentally tugging my hair as she untied my apron. "Off you go. Stop him before he gets too far or he'll think you don't care. I'll finish dinner."

Right confused, I hesitated. "What good would it do? What could I possibly tell him that'll make any difference?"

"Would it help if I told you I couldn't be more pleased with the person you chose to bring home to meet your folks?"

"I don't get it. I thought you and Dad fully expected me to marry a girl and have a family and all that."

By the center station, mum draped her coat over a stool to exchange it for her apron. "Sure, I'd like you to have a family, but more than that, I want you to be happy. That can't be if you wind up doing something against your grain just to please your father. If Fox means anything to you, go after him."

Outside the kitchen, I briefly realized the heat needed turning up. However, Fox's agitation was a little more important so I went straight up to my room, letting down my sleeves.

To my relief, I didn't find him packing. Only the lamp on my side of the bed was lit. He was in front of the window looking out, hands thrust in his pockets for warmth.

I shut the door down, but not all the way.

Hearing the creak, he glanced back, then out the window again.

Once there, I wasn't sure what to say. Apologizing for my mum seemed way too feeble a gesture. And not a very convincing one, either. Of course, I was going to apologize for her, he knew, despite whatever her real sentiment was. Finally I ventured, "You're not planning on leaving, are you?"

"Leaving?" he scoffed faintly, in spite of himself. "Not unless you want me to..."

"Don't be daft." I slipped my own hands in my pockets for the same reason.

"I'm trying to imagine how my own mom's going to react when she finds out I turned out to be a homosexual. She's been through enough crap in her life. I know for sure it'll be nothing like your mom's. You didn't leave dinner burning on the stove, did you?"

"Mum took over and sent me up here."

"She did? To ask me to leave?"

"Just the opposite. She told me to come make sure you didn't run off."

"See? That's where our parents are so different. My mom would probably throw you out, herself, if she ever figured out something like this was going on."

"That's what I don't understand. I thought for sure my mum would have had a wobbly, too. Well, maybe not as big a one as Dad. Then she'd tell him all about it then there would have been a proper row and everything. Not that I'd pay it any mind. I'm bloody well old enough to make my own decisions."

"So why didn't she?"

I shrugged. "I know she's got acquaintances and works with a few people who aren't straight and it doesn't bother her in the least. But it's all very different when it comes to your own, isn't it?"

Deliberating, he wandered to the desk and took the seat. "Maybe not. She's that much more aware about it than my folks." Folding his forearms on top of the desk, he leaned forward and rested his chin on them. "It's the junk people don't understand that scares them the most."

"That's what they say," I half agreed, backing to the bed to sit cross-legged on the corner facing him. "Still, if she understood so well, then she would have been just as calm when she suspected it before."

"She knew about you already?"

"Um, yeah, I suppose you could say that. Once they learned I was seeing girls, though my parents both breathed a collective sigh of relief."

"They thought you'd turned completely straight."

Wyeth and I had gone to great lengths, but we'd done our best to trick them into believing that. Which was why I was so shocked when Mum had popped into the room with the camera and practically begged me and Fox to pose snogging. "Right. So why's she only now acting like it's all right? Granted, she's crazy about you, but that wouldn't make a mum want her son to go queer again. You were there. You saw how she acted."

Fox sounded miserable. "I thought she was making fun of us."

With all those probabilities stacked against him, it was no wonder Fox had been so skittish. Getting up, I detected Mum must have turned up the heat because it was a little more comfortable in the room. Taking Fox's arm, I tugged him to sit on the bed next to me. "Nah, that's one thing she'd never do. She's never been the sort to deride or belittle me or Wyeth about anything. When she found out I liked blokes, she did none of those things. She was only trying to reassure you that she's really okay about us. She didn't mean to upset you at all. You've got to understand--she don't know the best way to handle a thing like this."

"This is so weird..." Fox blinked at the floor. "You mean your mom's really okay with it? She wants us to be--I don't know--a couple?"

"She's ready to back whatever I want. And I'm awfully fond of you." I looked to him, though he wasn't looking at me. "I wasn't planning on letting you run off or I wouldn't be up here, would I?" Partly to test him and mostly because I wanted to, I leaned to him to kiss his pretty face. "As a matter of fact..." I pressed him onto the bed. Not resisting, he lay back and eyed me through his long lashes, amused though mildly guarded. "I'm so bloody fond of you," I went on, "I'd take you again right this second if you hadn't worn me out so much I couldn't hope to get it up..."

The chuffed accolades from my tutors over my exams didn't set well with me. Only because I was in a serious quandary over my studies. I'd begun to really think about what Fox had said. However, quitting law would badly upset not just my father but his entire family. I ceased giving a damn about a brand new motorcar; I'd do as Wyeth had and buy whatever I could on my own means. We'd learned mechanics from our rellies on Mum's side of the family so we could maintain our own. I'd helped them refurbish Wyeth's Jag up to showroom-floor condition.

There was a flaw in Fox's reasoning though; I don't think he realized that law required a special talent of its own. There were plenty of mediocre barristers around--the type who'd simply studied long hard years and scarcely passed their exams. My father's family however were great barristers. Would I be throwing away one talent for another? My tutors seemed to think I had it even though I silently disagreed. They said in ways I showed greater potential than Wyeth who'd just gone through the same courses before me. And he was getting bloody clever at his job in only a year's time. What they didn't know was that Wyeth hadn't had a brilliant study mate like I'd lucked into. Would I have even passed my exams if not for Fox? Or had I really inherited some sort of talent from the Elden-Becks? It seemed more to me that I wasn't like my father's side of the family. I couldn't see myself going through so much trouble in a courtroom for rich snobs over finances and property and divorces and scandalous write-ups in the tabloids. I'd tell them all to bugger off--they had more than enough money and if they didn't want anyone poking about in their private affairs they shouldn't have become celebrities should they?

Passing courses was all very well but once my family got wind of my tutors glowing reviews on my performance made to sound all the more spectacular because I'd managed to handle and pass a few art classes simultaneously against their strong advice, my father's family would be all the more expectant of me.

For the time being, I was locked into my schedule for the next term and Wyeth had been told he could take his time and think it over. He'd not really been told how long that time was.

What I wound up doing was focusing harder than ever on studying law while I let the art fall by the wayside. My swotting sessions with Fox became more serious. He didn't have to keep after me any more and I stopped bringing my sketchpads along. Music, yeah, but my easel remained packed and my art supplies came out only for class. When we'd swot in my room he'd complain about the lacking scent of oil paints and turpentine that I suppose he'd come to take for granted as a natural component of my habitat.

For a while, Fox's silly cow continued to pester me. That she tried flirting with me really pissed me off. Eventually she asked after Fox which I knew had been her purpose all along. I wanted to tell her he hadn't the time or the energy for her any more because he was too busy having it off with me. God I'd have given anything to see her eyes bug over that revelation. Knowing Fox would die if I made it public, I simply told her to toss off, as I had no mind to catch a venereal disease.

I think that term I suddenly got more serious than I ever had in my life. I lost a lot of mates. I'd always had plenty all my life so that felt kind of strange. No one asked me to the pub after class any more; girls took to giving me the brush off--even those who were my mates. Ordinarily I was used to all levels of flirting from them. I suppose I was getting to be dull. All in all, none of that really mattered--I just wasn't used to it. I had my studies to attend to and I had Fox. My studies didn't satisfy me but Fox more than made up for that.

The next thing I knew it appeared I was going to fail my life drawing class. I'd covered all the theory well enough in my papers but my tutor pointed out that my last drawings had been decidedly sub par for my ability and if I didn't turn in a decent piece of artwork soon he was sorry but he'd have no choice other than to fail me. Being a reasonable sort, he'd allow me to plea my case if I couldn't come up with anything.

Failing any course at Oxford couldn't look good on one's record even though the outcome of an art class really shouldn't have any bearing on my law studies. Then I made the mistake of telling Fox and he about had a seizure. First he was angry then he got flustered and upset to the point that he even promised to model for me if need be. And wouldn't hide behind a book or anything he swore. Just so I'd present a decent piece of artwork to my tutor and pass.

On his advice, I met with my tutor after classes to discuss my situation. I didn't give a damn about doing any drawing--I just meant to tell him I'd decided to pursue law and he could go ahead and fail me.

Mr. Daniels, like a lot of art tutors, was a decent fellow. Everyone liked him. In his early forties, I'd guess. He was fit with straight dark-blond hair. Some of the girls had a bit of a crush on him. Having had a crush or two on a tutor, myself, I understood how that could be, although I didn't have one on Mr. Daniels. Not that there was anything wrong with him--he just wasn't my cup of tea.

It was near six in the evening when he asked me to come meet him. He'd been asked to attend a cricket match, filling in for someone. Only by then he was famished, so he invited me to dinner where we could conduct our meeting.

Already, that was curious but I was stupid and agreed to go. I hadn't had dinner myself and the poor man must have been starving, not having eaten since eleven that morning, he said.

How I wish I'd talked to my brother about the whole thing instead of Fox. Now Wyeth would have seen it coming. No, I thought Mr. Daniels was being extraordinarily cool in buying me appetizers and drinks before taking me back to his house. Since that appeased our hunger well enough we left it at that.

"I've never asked a student before," he said, fixing us more drinks, "but would you consider modeling for me?"

Having turned down the same request a trillion times from my classmates, I should have had my immediate, though polite refusal at the ready. The difference was he was my tutor. I was totally taken off guard.

"You're very good-looking you know" he went on in my surprised silence. Then as if to buffer my shock changed the subject. "I understand your desire to pursue law as your brother and many generations of your family have done here at Oxford. You did enroll in my class, however, and as gifted an artist as you may be, without full completion of your course work I'm afraid failure would be the only recourse left to me."

So he'd been looking into my background as well. "But-but what would modeling for you have to do with that?"

He brought us both a couple of highball glasses and passed one to me where I perched on the arm of an old leather sofa. "If a student demonstrates a good enough effort at least, to fulfill his or her course work, it could make all the difference between passing and failing."

I waited.

Taking a seat in the middle of the leather cushions, he gestured for me to drink up.

"Does that I mean I have to do the drawing or not?" I finally had to ask.

"The thing is I've not been inspired by anything in a good long while." He took a drink. "If it's all the same to you, I'm willing to pass you if you're willing to do the sitting."

"That's all I'd have to do?" I started to laugh.

"Essentially."

"Well, then." I gulped down a third of the drink. "Let's get on with it."

Despite the numerous times I'd been asked to model, I'd become very picky since starting uni. Nor did I care for it much through my art classes before that, boring quickly of the task. Back then, I hadn't much choice if the instructor should choose me to model for class, which they did all too often.

At least Mr. Daniels handled the situation in a way that made it easier to tolerate by serving up more alcohol. Taking my clothes off for a tutor, however, was new to me. At least he wasn't too particular in making me hold strictly to a pose or trying to capture some mood or another. All he told me was to be myself and relax.

On the same leather sofa, with a few work lamps set up, I reclined against the arm, sipping away at whatever he gave me. We had a nice chat. I found out a bit of his background--personal and professional--and he learned a thing or two about me. He was divorced and owned a longhaired pet cat whom he'd fed in the kitchen. No kids. His mum had died four years ago. That sort of thing. The more we chatted, with him perched behind his easel, the easier it was for me to forget he was my tutor and imagine him an ordinary mate.

As a matter of course, he asked me if I had a girl. Being drunk and awfully nave, I answered truthfully--I didn't.

"You can't be serious," Mr. Daniels remarked. "A good-looking fellow like you? I would have guessed you had at least two or three."

"Just 'cause I don't got a girl don't mean I'm lonely," I said, not minding my RP in my inebriated state.

"Of course not. You must have got your pick of any girl at Oxford you should happen to fancy."

"That's not how 'tis, either," I denied. Should I ever be reported for unbecoming behavior at Oxford, it may as well not be over rubbish.

"Why don't you think about how it is, then? I'd like to capture you in full virility."

Confused, I lowered my glass. "How's that?"

In the lull before I got an answer, it occurred to me Mr. Daniels may have been stewing over my rude manners. Before I could correct myself, he spoke. "You know. As a man."

Putting the two descriptions together, I thought I twigged onto what he meant. But I had to be wrong. That was the way my mind worked, as opposed to his. There was no way a tutor was going to suggest what I was thinking. "How do you mean?"

"Come along, now. We both know you're not as thick as all that. The grandeur of the full potential of your manhood."

I had to be right. "You mean with a stiff one?"

"Yes, that is precisely what I mean. And if I could impose upon you to lower your left knee..."

"You mean you draw pornography?" Instead, I closed my knees. "I think you should have told me that from the onset."

From somewhere behind the easel he cleared his throat. "Obviously you still have much to learn about art, Mr. Elden-Beck. What public consensus deems art has nothing to do with the true essence of the human body. Public consensus has long been restricted by idiotic idealisms from the Victorian age. The male human body is no less beautiful than the female."

I had to laugh. "To be honest, I think so."

"Well, then. Have at yourself."

If Mr. Daniels had any idea how much I liked to draw Fox in that very state, he probably would have clouted me for acting so wally, or hesitating. I just didn't expect it of my tutor. It wasn't as though I'd never done anything like it before. In my inebriated state, it was all the easier. I had only to think of my lovely mate.

After setting my glass on the floor, when I resumed a recline on the creaking leather, I parted my knees again. With a bit of handling, I managed to stir up a response. A remonstrative cough from Mr. Daniels reminded me to let my left knee fall to the side.

By shutting my eyes, I could forget entirely where I was and picture Fox making love to me with increasing clarity. Hair falling forward in his eyes with each thrust, tendons and tits standing out, every muscle flexed. His sensuous lips running over my neck, face, mouth--savoring, consuming. Warmth breath on me, mingling with mine, as we panted in exertion, growing hot and dewy from the heat of our passion. I throbbed for want of him deep within me, satisfying his object of virility--at its long, fullest potential to be sure--jolting my insides while it raked erogenous zones I hadn't known I had before I met him.

God, I wanted him. I wanted to be in bed with him, wrapped around him, making desperate love with him. I wanted his sleek, hard loins pounding against me, my legs flexed to yield to him as completely as I could.

The phantasmagoric quality of my fantasy was shattered by a very real touch.

My eyes shot open. It wasn't Fox.

Recoiled in the corner of the sofa, knees up, I wondered what the penalty at Oxford for stomping one's tutor was. Not that I really gave a damn. They could expel me and bar my progeny from attendance for the rest of eternity, for all I cared. I waited long enough to see that Mr. Daniels was going to recover from the winding and retching my beating had caused. Once I saw I needn't ring an ambulance, I got up--ninety-nine percent sober--grabbed my clothes and started to dress.

"Perry," Daniels coughed for good reason, then. "Listen, Perry. We should--we should sort this out--"

"Sod off." I said yanking on my shirt. "Press all the charges you want. I'll claim sodomy. I've a rank of judges and barristers in my family who'll not only decimate your career, they'll have a right lark going about it."

**FOX**

Much to my disconcertion, I learned the morning after their meeting that Perry's tutor hadn't been able to give him any other option than to do the drawing. Because my tutor had dismissed us early the next time the art class convened, I went by to meet Perry in the hope that Mr. Daniels had had a change of heart. When the class emptied, I stood back, preferring not to be noticed in case I was recognized from any of Perry's artwork--past or future. As usual, he was affably conversing with a fellow student. When they parted company, I started to ask if Daniels had said anything further on the subject of the final assignment. Then I caught of glimpse of him through the open door. The guy looked like he'd been in a fight.

"What happened to him?" I asked instead.

Still amused from the joke just shared with the classmate, Perry glanced back. "Oh, him. Says he tripped on his cat in the middle of the night. Fell down the stairs. Can't say I feel sorry for him, the stubborn git."

Neither of us were pleased about Mr. Daniels' inflexible disposition but rather than see Perry fail I was almost glad to do the sitting. Almost.

It was bad enough that I'd have to be nude. Then he got this crazy idea about doing the painting outdoors beyond the perimeters of the university parks. Somewhere upstream of the River Cherwell, weather permitting.

Unfortunately the weather did. For the next several days, in fact, until he finished the assignment. We had to take a bus to get out there. I had to help carry some of his equipment. Since I'd agreed to do the sitting, I couldn't complain.

"Listen" I said while we were collecting his gear in his room. "Don't you think it might be a little cold outside for me to take all my clothes off?"

"Cold? Don't be daft. It's like bloody summer outdoors."

For an Englishman I guess it must have seemed hot. It certainly wasn't freezing so I guess I had no argument. And anyway, he'd taken his clothes off for me outside in truly cold weather last December.

It was cold at first, anyway. We were out in the middle of what looked like nowhere with beautiful English countryside for a background. Because it was a life art class, he had to waste that landscape on making me the focus of attention in the painting. Embarrassed, awkward, chilled, and highly uncomfortable I could hardly see how I made much of a subject. He told me I was free to find my own position on the blanket we'd brought; my first instinct was to hide as much as I could, legs together, knees drawn up. Naturally, he clucked at me but all in good nature.

"What you want to cover up for?" he chided. "You've got a great body."

"Because I feel more comfortable this way?"

"Comfortable me arse. If you were comfortable, you wouldn't be all tensed up the way you are. How'd you expect me to see you all scrunched up like a bloody armadillo?" After setting his palette on the nearby rocks where we'd set up, he came to me and got down on his knees on the blanket in front of me. Tipping my chin up he kissed me. A little alarmed to be doing this out in the open, I started to pull back. He wouldn't let me--instead he kissed me again. It was so understanding and sweet I started to relax. "You're beautiful," he said softly. Those fantastically striking eyes that had mesmerized me from the day I met him, held my gaze so steady I couldn't help but believe him. Even if it was only for those magical sessions.

**JUNE**

In early June, I had to bring it up. I'd neglected my mom over Christmas and New Year. I owed her the summer. When I first told Perry, he seemed to understand. He just nodded and we went back to studying. Until after we'd made love and were falling asleep in his bed. I was tucked up against him. Gently, he woke me up.

"I can go with you," he said.

While I woke, confused, he further explained what he was talking about.

"I've never been to America. I think Mum and Dad will look at it as learning experience for me. I think they'll agree. Soon as I start working for Granddad, I'll pay them back. That'll be even better. I mean, they don't know 'bout that yet--"

"You're not going to work for your granddad" I reminded, him mildly annoyed at being rousted from sleep and more so by the gist of his words.

"I'll go mad from boredom if I have to stay here by myself. I'd do anything for a chance to visit America. Will you take me or not?"

Suddenly the whole prospect of going home was incredible if I could go there with Perry. Waking, I turned onto my back. "You really think your parents would agree?"

"There's no question."

Not that I was given the details but I don't think the plans went over quite as smoothly as Perry had made out. He was so stressed with all the intensive studying before final exams and trying to arrange the trip with me to the States, I felt sorry for him and let him know I'd understand if it wasn't possible. Casually, he laughed it off and assured me his parents were excited about the whole thing. They were doubly thrilled that my mother would be so magnanimous.

They really didn't know what her reaction had been and I hadn't shared it quite the way it had transpired. The sad part was that Mom had been such a social person through most of my childhood. She often held parties at our homes on the Vineyard and in Quonochontaug. When I told her about Perry coming home with me to stay the summer, she got quiet. To win her consent, I explained that it had been his family I'd stayed with over the Christmas and New Year's break. Mom began to make excuses which was so unlike her. Was I sure his parents approved? Could they afford it? Did they want their son so far away from home? Being as I couldn't swear on any of those details all I could do was tell her I'd get back to her when I knew more.

I came to believe his reassurances less and less as exams neared. The weekend before, he took off with his brother. He told me Wyeth had offered to help him with a rigorous "swotting" session, having been through the law curriculum himself. Even if that meant I'd have a dull weekend doing my own studying, I had to understand, little as I approved of Perry's evident fixation on law as opposed to art. Nor did I understand the peculiar hostile way Wyeth treated me when he came to pick Perry up. Until Wyeth dropped a few hints about my having his brother all summer so I'd better not be complaining about being bored and lonely over the weekend.

It hadn't been my idea to strap the family for cash just so Perry could come to the States with me, much as I loved the idea. I wondered if maybe Wyeth had been asked to take a cut in pay for a few weeks just to help finance the trip or something equally as imposing, by the way he was acting. Maybe I understood wrong but I'd thought the cost of Perry's education was way nominal compared to mine. And I knew his parents earned a good living.

Late Sunday evening I'd fallen asleep in bed reading, when I awoke by the sound of the door across the hall. I never would have heard such a subtle sound had I not been listening for Perry's return. I couldn't help it.

Quickly I removed my glasses and scrambled out of bed in my pajamas to go meet him. It had to be after 11:00. Considering we had exams in the morning, it was kind of late.

Seeing light beneath the door, I knocked a few times to no avail. The door was locked when I tried it. "Perry?"

Within, I thought I heard his familiar giggle and a muted verbal exchange with his brother. Crap. Wyeth hadn't gone home yet.

The door opened in moments and Wyeth peered out. I didn't see his jacket, which meant he probably wasn't planning to leave in any hurry. "Don't worry 'bout tucking Perry into bed tonight; I'll see to it."

"I-I thought you'd gone--"

"Come on in, Foxy," Perry drawled drunkenly, yanking the door open on his brother's hold. His hair a tousled mess, his clothes askew, he pulled me into the room. "Come on, then. How 'bout a nightcap?" From the door, he steered me to the nightstand where an open bottle of scotch stood.

"Can't you see the boy was preparing to get some sleep?" Wyeth intervened, following us. "Let him get back--"

"He can sleep in here just the same," Perry stated, sitting me on the edge of his bed where he held the bottle of scotch out to me.

I interrupted, pushing the bottle away. "We really should both be getting some sleep. We've got exams in the morning. You're not going to be for shit tomorrow, all hung-over." Before he could take his own drink of scotch, I grabbed the bottle from him and stood. "Here." I handed Wyeth the bottle instead; if he wanted to continue drinking it made no difference to me. "Why don't you take that with you on your way out? I'll get Perry to bed--"

"Pardon me," Wyeth intoned, taking my upper arm politely but firmly, "but I've been putting my little brother to bed long before you ever came to England. I don't need any help, I assure you."

Instantly, Perry seized his brother's arm with a lot more force than mine was being held. "Leave off him, Wyeth. Thank you both; I can put myself to bed." With that, Perry pushed Wyeth to the door, picking up his jacket on the way. I could see he was unwilling to go. They exchanged some heated whispers by the door then Perry finally sent his brother away with the bottle of scotch, and locked the door.

Much as I knew we both really needed to get to sleep, I still couldn't turn Perry down when he put me down on his bed and made love to me.

**SATURDAY--JUNE 19**

It was a long, six-plus hour trip to New York City, I knew; the difference was Perry was with me. His parents had been so generous; they'd upgraded my ticket to first class because they wouldn't have their baby ride coach. They knew coach and being as it was Perry's first trip in an airplane, they wanted him spoiled.

With all the junk Perry had to take care of before he left the country for the first time, once exams were over, we moved back to Windsor for nearly a couple of weeks. After what had happened last January, I was okay about having the door shut and making love with Perry under his parents' roof again. That his mother helped cover for us made things even easier. In fact, I got the chance to warm all the more to his mother, when she wasn't running back and forth between London and Windsor or working on layouts or on the phone in the study.

Aside from being beautiful, she was a terrific lady. Which I'd started to learn the first time I met her. Only this time, things were different between us. Before, I'd been the polite guest; now I was, essentially, her son's boyfriend. Not like before, but in another capacity.

When I first arrived, I saw she'd added blonde streaks to her sable-brown hair and had had it cut to frame her face, which made her all the more dazzling. As I recalled, she'd kissed me the first time we met, but this time, it was with a strong hug and a lot more heartfelt.

During our stay, when time permitted, she dug out the photo albums and showed me pictures. That wasn't a gesture families shared with just anyone unless specifically asked. Boy, was I glad she did. I found out just why Perry was spoiled. In his own, unique way, of course. He'd pretty much been an extraordinarily beautiful kid from birth. Not just cute but downright, fucking beautiful. I also found out, with his mother's guard down, that he had a nickname. Precious. I sure as hell knew why.

Beyond my classroom studies, I had a tendency to look for psychological situations to try and analyze. The subject of parental-child relationships was one of particular interest to me. My own were too weird to consider. I found Perry a fascinating subject in a lot of different ways and I wanted to apply what I'd learned in theory to real life.

One thing I'd been trying to grasp was his nonchalance regarding almost everything, in general. So many times, I wished I could adopt that attitude. Up until him, I'd only seen that sort of indifference in guys who were too dumb or too stoned to know better. That definitely wasn't Perry.

Way back, I'd kind of thought maybe he did do drugs, considering his attitude. The more time I spent with him, I found out that couldn't be the case; he was way too sharp and intelligent, plus I never saw him doing them and he never talked about doing them. The alcohol he was entirely open about. Sure, drugs were something one had to be more closed about. In England, alcohol consumption was legal at eighteen, so that made it all the more acceptable. Still, it had become evident pretty fast that Perry was way too smart, clever, and on top of things to be stoned. His nonchalance stemmed from something else and I really wanted to know what that was.

In my quest, I'd looked to the parents. I'd seen some of their interaction with Wyeth and I saw their interaction with Perry and it was different. Wyeth they treated with a certain amount of disdain at times, but still made a fuss over and really seemed to care about him, no matter how much of an asshole he could act. Perry didn't get the disdain. Of course, he didn't act like an asshole to his parents. Or to me, for that matter. He could tease as if he was going to, but never got down to the real thing, except over Phoebe. Then again, that wasn't quite accurate, either. I'd seen him do something along those lines at other times.

So I did some serious thinking. I had to think back to when we'd first become friends. Despite his overtures to me, he made it evident he liked girls, too. So did I. So that was immediately established as an understood element in our relationship. I saw him interact with girls. I saw flirting and exchanged looks between them. Girls were crazy about him, he liked them, and there was nothing about that for me not to comprehend.

Only he'd make dates and break them. Without explanation or concern. Ninety-two percent of the time, he seemed to prefer hanging around with me, even if we didn't do much of anything. There were times when he'd jilt girls he had sex with, for me. Or at least, I thought he had sex with them and when I asked, he'd say enough to convince me that he did.

Thus, he presented a heck of a case. Based on the psychology I'd learned so far, according the way his parents spoiled him, that nonchalance toward women made perfect sense. Only it didn't make sense any other way. He should have been a self-centered, egotistical brat. He wasn't. Not in any other way other than what his pining girlfriends went through. Well aside from that, I saw him as being wonderfully conscientious and sensitive to others, and the owner of a healthy sense of self-worth and confidence. Not a narcissistic, self-indulged asshole by any means. If he had been, I never could have made friends with him. Perry was unique; he defied the bounds of textbook psychology that I'd seen so far. I couldn't help but admire him all the more.

Adding to his childlike innocence, he was even more thrilled when I let him sit by the window. He didn't ask to--it didn't even occur to him. Now, that was Perry. As it was, he was already wide-eyed and practically bouncing off the walls. When he wrested off his coat, it tickled the hell out of me to see he had a hard-on. That really charmed me. He was nothing like he should have been. I only wished I could do something about his arousal.

It had been a while since I'd flown first class, myself. It was nice being pampered again. I think one of the first times was when Samantha and I were kids and my family flew to Disneyland.

Once Perry's excitement finally ebbed a little--which took until about halfway through the flight--we had to find something to do to while away the time. We were snacking on almonds and some tasteless, prepackaged British biscuits. One of those gag-me romantic box office hit movies was running. This ensured us even better privacy than the high-backed, plush first class seats afforded because most of the other passengers were all plugged into headphones, gawping at the screen.

"You know how you said your mom freaked out when she first learned you liked guys?" I broached quietly. "How old were you when she found out?"

He stopped chewing. Almost visibly, behind the sexy curls falling around his temples, I could see him calculating. When he finally answered, it didn't sound quite honest. "Don't remember..."

It seemed like he was dodging. How could he possibly forget something like that? First of all, it had to have been a fairly recently and second, if my mom ever discovered that about me, the moment would be indelibly scarred into my memory banks. "Approximately, anyway."

"I said I don't remember."

"Seventeen? Eighteen? Something like that?"

"What's it matter?"

"A lot. Given the time your mother first found out and now could make all kinds of difference in the time she's had to learn more and readjust her attitude."

"Oh." He swallowed. "Then you'd be wanting to know the last time."

I started. "What? No, the last time was when she figured out about us. I'd rather not know precisely how or when she figured that out. I'm talking about the first time."

"What you want to know for?"

"Because. Because I want to help you understand why she changed her mind about it. Because I want to know for myself. Because it'll add insight to my study course."

He focused inside his packet of almonds. "You want to make a case study of me?"

"Oh, no. I'd never do a thing like that. But every insight I can gain about psychology is bound to increase my understanding. To me, you're a heck of a lot more interesting than the textbook cases, for personal reasons."

"Then you're not going to write an essay on me one day?"

Charmed again, I laughed lightly. "Well, no. Anything you tell me would be way too personal for both of us; I'd never announce anything about you in class."

The frown on his brow told me he wasn't amused. "I said I don't remember." His eyes flashed a pale purple-blue hue at me, the color of alexandrite. "What you want me to do? Lie?"

"N-no." My clinical excitement defused; it seemed I was probing at something he didn't want to share with me. Since I was trying not to approach him on a clinical level, it occurred to me he felt I had no business asking him about such personal stuff. Sinking back in my seat, I added, "Never mind. Forget--"

"There was the time when I was..." He thought. "Fifteen--I think. Well, I suppose I must have been, all things considered."

To steel myself, I gripped my armrest. What did he mean, "There was the time"? I'd asked him to tell me about the first time. That didn't suggest a first. That sounded like an anecdote from somewhere down the road. Was he so much of an oversexed wolf he didn't want to admit when his first time was? And was I that much of a loser? He'd barely taken my virginity last year.

"Mum and Dad had gone out for the afternoon and evening. They came home early. They caught me and this fellow in the sitting room."

After taking a quick moment to revive, I went on. First, I didn't relish thoughts of him with anyone else, even though I knew that had to come along with the question, and second, what if his father had come home early sometime that week back in January when Perry and I taken advantage of the empty house? "What-what did your mother do?"

"I don't remember the details, all right? Dad went off his head and was ready to call in the Bobbies. Mum was upset and all, but she's the one who talked sense into him."

"That's all she did?" I was at least a little relieved. "Maybe she wasn't anywhere as upset as you think. Maybe she was responding to the way your father was taking it. You were pretty young-- that would be reason for a mother to be upset. You said she knew and worked with plenty of non-straight people in her profession. She was probably more disconcerted than--"

"Well, she did cry."

"She cried?" My panic arced. "She was that upset?"

He shrugged. "Told you I didn't get it."

"Were you hurt?" Suddenly, I was worried for Perry's sake.

"Not bloody well likely," Perry scoffed. Emptying the packet of almonds, he crumpled the foil. "My brother would have carved the bloke a new arsehole if he'd tried."

"I wouldn't blame your brother, but it would have been too late by the time he found out."

"He was right there." He brushed the salt off his hands. "He would've stomped Ian on the spot."

Staggered, I fell back in my seat. I couldn't imagine such a situation.

With his usual nonchalance, Perry sat up for a look around the cabin. "I'm still thirsty; where's that attendant gone?"

My mouth had turned a little dry, too. I picked up my own soft drink can which was less than half-full and losing its chill. "Y-your folks must have been furious at your brother..."

"Am I allowed go back there and ask for a drink?"

I hardly heard him. "What-what did your parents do to him? Wyeth, I mean."

Dropping back in his seat, knee flexed so his long leg was up against the armrest, he answered, the light through the window enhancing his brilliant eyes. "Dad turfed him out a couple of days. They blamed him entirely, of course."

For the first time I felt sorry for Wyeth. "And you let him take all the blame?"

"Nah, I'd never do that, but they wouldn't hear me. They were both under the impression I was so traumatized about the whole thing, they wouldn't discuss it with me. See, Ian was Wyeth's mate. They both think Ian did me, but they've never let me explain that he didn't."

Relief flooded through me, but I tried not to get my hopes up. "He didn't?"

"Told you--Wyeth would have carved Ian a new arsehole. Didn't matter that Ian had been Wyeth's best mate for years--he wouldn't let blokes get that far with me. And he was always there to make sure of it."

That corresponded with the way Wyeth treated me. No wonder he seemed like such a prick sometimes--he was merely being protective of his younger brother. I guessed I'd probably have felt the same way about Samantha. Well, not to that extent. I sure as hell never would have supervised her make-out sessions. Then again, maybe Wyeth had a sound idea there...If he was that protective about his younger brother, I had to wonder what he would have done about a younger sister. Maybe I should have been more like that. Maybe Samantha would still be--"Wait," I suddenly said. "I know I wasn't you're first." There was no denying Perry had seemed to know everything he was doing from day one.

His elbow abruptly slipped off the far armrest. Then he collected himself. "You don't think I didn't find ways to sneak out behind my brother's back, do you?"

**PERRY**

There wasn't any pleasing Wyeth. He was so pissed off about my trip to America he wouldn't see me off. He did come by the house before I left, but not to Heathrow. I knew part of it was because it was the first time either of us was getting the chance to go to America. We used to talk about how one day we'd like to go there together. He had his job to tend to and I was going as Fox's guest so it was totally impossible for me to invite him and he knew it. I tried to assure him that come the winter holiday if he took the position at the family firm we should be able to make the trip together. He wasn't very consoled. It was best not to push it since I didn't think I could stand to be away from Fox the whole winter holiday at any rate.

The other reason he was pissed off was because I'd be gone so long particularly during the time of year we always spent together. With uni classes out of the way for me, I should be free to go stay at his London flat through most of the summer. That year I was too excited about my trip to America and he was in a hump about it.

So Fox wouldn't have to ship all his belongings back home, I had him leave what he wouldn't need over the summer at my folks' house. We spent the week after exams there in Windsor, making sure we had everything in order, including my visa and passport. We left the next Saturday. That way my parents could both attend us to Heathrow where Mum made a fuss, taking pictures of us, hugging me a million times, and kissing me then wiping off the lipstick. She hugged and kissed Fox too although not as much to his relief I'm sure. I guess I had to understand--I'd never been so far away from Mum before. She'd made as much fuss my first year at uni but that was only thirty miles away.

After some six-and-a-half hours of flying time, we were pretty restless by the time we got to New York City. Fox's mum was supposed to be there to pick us up and drive us to her home in Greenwich, Connecticut. Soon as I saw her rushing up to the gate, I knew who she was. She had the same worried tilt to her eyebrows that he got, as well, and hazel eyes that like his. Over a summer frock, she wore a thin top with fancy stitching on it. Unlike my mum, Mrs. Mulder wore her dark hair fairly short all over except in back where it only reached the base of her neck. On the other hand, she made an arguably worse fuss over Fox than my mum had over me. She practically started crying as she touched his face, kissed, and hugged him. My mum had been good enough to save her tears until we were actually setting off through the open gate. I happened to glance back and saw her eyes all wet, tears running down her face.

Knowing Fox was uncomfortable, I hung back and took in the terminal sights instead. Until I heard him saying, "Mom, mom. I-I want you to meet my friend Perry. Perry Elden-Beck."

Course I had to look at them again to take her hand. "I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs. Mulder."

"Hello," she sniffed, sounding uncertain. "I want to thank you and your family for your hospitality in allowing my son to stay with you last Christmas."

"The pleasure was all ours," I told her. "My parents couldn't be more daft about Fox."

"Really?" She wiped at her eyes carefully, trying not to smear her makeup. "That-that's very nice of you to say."

"Come on," Fox urged. "We've got to pick up our stuff then Perry's got to go through immigration."

All we'd had to eat on board the plane were snacks. I didn't know about Fox but I was right peckish. Mum had fed us well while we'd stayed in Windsor. By my watch, it was ten minutes to seven in the evening, which fully explained I was so peckish. Fox and I had eaten nothing more than the sweet scones with jam and clotted cream Mum had baked for us before we left for the airport. Through the terminal windows, however, I could see it looked like early afternoon. According to the first clock I spotted, it was ten minutes to two; that meant it would be hours before it would be time for Mrs. Mulder's dinner. Accustomed to starving I braced to do just that.

It took a while for me to get through immigration. I had no problem with my visa--I just had to wait behind other passengers who did. It was a boring wait, too, because Fox went off to sit with his mum, so I had to do without his company. I figured they had a lot to catch up on so by the time I straggled back to them, I expected they'd be chatting away. They weren't, though. It seemed that rather like Fox, his mum wasn't the talkative sort. It was interesting to think such a trait could be inherent.

Being as I was about to spend a whole summer in her house and because she was Fox's mum, I so wanted to get on with her. "My mum's a set and mat designer," I told her, on our walk out of the terminal. "She works with movie studios in London. And my dad's a barrister. He runs his own business there, too. With my brother."

"Your family all hold interesting jobs," she murmured.

"I'm sure Fox told you I'm studying law, myself."

"Yes, he did. That's a very honorable profession."

At a loss, I looked to Fox over her head but he wasn't looking at me. She seemed pleasant enough--just not particularly friendly. Despite Fox's assurances that she was delighted at the prospect of my visit, I began to suspect otherwise. "I-I understand Fox's father works for the public sector. Only Fox was never all that clear about it."

"He works for the State Department," she said, digging through her handbag. "Their focus is to ensure that other countries comply with U.S. policies." Abruptly, she raised her head and addressed Fox. "Did you have lunch on board the plane?"

"Um, no," Fox answered. "We took off a little after noon. They couldn't serve dinner right when we were about to land."

"Dinner?" she seemed confused. "What time is it for you?"

Fox checked his watch. "After eight in the evening."

"Oh my goodness, you poor dear. You must be close to fainting from hunger. You must have lost twenty-five pounds since last summer."

"You exaggerate," Fox laughed.

We stopped at the rear end of a two-tone sandalwood-on-brown, very late model Cadillac Seville Elegante. She unlocked the boot with the keys she'd been rooting for from her handbag.

"When'd you get this?" Fox asked, sounding gobsmacked.

I felt that way a little, myself; I thought they were supposed to be tapped for money in order to pay for Fox's education.

As we loaded our luggage into the boot, I looked to Fox again; he quickly busied himself.

"Last December," Mrs. Mulder replied as if it were completely expected. "Do you like it?"

"I-it's nice," Fox replied immediately. "Very nice."

"I like it," she said.

"It's downright smashing," I told her.

"Why, thank you." Pleased at last, she smiled at me.

At least I'd scored one point with her. Patiently, I waited to get into the backseat.

"We'll stop somewhere here in the city so you can have dinner," Mrs. Mulder went on.

Fox followed me and she went around to the passenger side. She was going to have Fox drive. Great. I was eager to see him behind the wheel on his own turf.

Still holding the keys, she unlocked her door and reached in and released the rest of the locks at once. "You're the guest," she said to me across the roof of the motorcar. "What would you like to have?"

Hungry as I was I had something hearty in mind. "Mm. Cornish pasties and bubble and squeak would be delicious."

Shaking his head, Fox laughed again before he slipped into the driver's seat.

Soon as I got in, I was reminded at once that I was mistaken; the steering wheel was on the other side, of course.

"We're in America now," Fox rebuffed me. "I thought you were excited about trying hamburgers and hot dogs. Frankly, if my next meal isn't American I'm going to self-destruct."

"Oh, yeah." Even though my taste buds weren't set on some unfamiliar fare, I was agreeable. For more legroom, I slid to the center of the luxuriously upholstered backseat. "Let's try some of that, then."

Apologetically, his mum looked back at me. "I'm afraid I really wouldn't know where to buy British food here in the City."

"That's perfectly all right," I said. "Like Fox said, I'm willing to try something new."

As she turned the engine over it started with a barely audible cough and fell to silence. I thought for a second it had died but she released the handbrake and set the transmission into reverse. "Let's see. I can show you a little of New York City while we decide where to eat. Would you like that?"

I was about ready to forget my hunger pangs. "I'd love it!"

"Well, I'd love to have a slice of authentic New York cheese cake," she said. "Let's drive to the Village. There are a million wonderful places to eat and plenty to see."

Recalling the first sightseeing trip I took Fox on, I felt the awe he must have been in that day. Though I honestly felt, I may have had a little more reason for it. Sure, the Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral, and all those places are pretty spectacular to see. I suppose I'm just so accustomed to them. On the other hand, New York City was vast in comparison.

From my onboard luggage, I fumbled to dig out my 35 mm Nikon fast as I could, lowered my window, and started snapping away at everything. It was sunny and clear so I wouldn't have to worry about exposure. I didn't care how daft and touristy it seemed--I was too excited.

All I'd heard about the skyscrapers did them no justice when viewed from a city street beneath them. There was something about the immediacy of the atmosphere like electricity that just quickened my pulse. I wanted to climb out the window and get out on the sidewalk while we waited at the stoplights, in the heavy traffic. And like my mum, his was one of those cautious drivers who was content to let every opportunity pass her by

It was the most fantastic thing in the world to see places I'd only read or heard about on telly. Like I'd done for Fox, he played tour guide and told me what everything was. On my first few hours in the country, I caught a glimpse of Central Park, we passed the Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center--I was so thrilled I got a hard-on. I was reminded that Fox did, too, during our sightseeing in London.

Just like in London, there was no place to park when we got to where we were going. I found out then that Fox's mum had been referring to "Greenwich Village". Who hadn't heard of that place? Another thrill for me. Behind the camera, peering through the viewfinder, I wasn't paying them much mind until we were double-parked and his mum was arguing with Fox to trade places so he could back into a parking space.

"You can do it," he kept telling her.

"I'd rather not risk putting a dent on my new car," she was saying. "You know I've never been all that great at parallel parking--"

"Look, Mom," he said, "I hardly ever drove in England; I'm pretty rusty, myself. You drive a lot more than I do any more."

When she tried backing in, she didn't half cut her wheels; at best, she invoked some impatient honking behind us. "I don't think there's enough room," she sighed. "I'll just find another spot." She shifted back into forward.

The last thing I wanted to do was to insult her by acting the backseat driver but even my Grandmother Elden-Beck, who'd never learned to drive, could have parked by then.

"Let Perry," Fox suddenly volunteered. "He's a really good driver for someone who doesn't even have a car."

"Are you?" She regarded me, eyes brimming with the sincerest hope. Before I could say a word, she tucked the gearbox in park and was climbing out. "I hope it's not too much trouble, being as the steering wheel's on the other side."

All I could do at that point was scramble out and dash around the Cadillac. I suppose it was karma, after what I'd pulled on Fox when I first took him to London. I had to orient myself from scratch--no clutch, steering column on the wrong side, traffic on the wrong side. Good lord. At least my father's Mercedes had an automatic transmission. With the flurry of finishing essays and heavy swotting, I'd scarcely managed to secure my passport and visa in time for our trip; as of yet, I'd not received my international driver's license, which my parents would have to post to me.

I don't know how I did it. Anxiously, I straightened out the car again, my camera strap still around my neck, and geared into reverse just as I saw another driver glide up behind us, preparing to steal the spot. The nervy git. I swiftly shifted into reverse and hit the accelerator with a squeal of rubber. Fox's mum gasped in alarm from the backseat--then she realized not only why I'd had to make the quick maneuver but that I'd successfully set her lovely Seville square in place.

"Oh, my," she commented, checking through all the windows of the car. "You _are_ a good driver."

Except for the accents and some of the peculiar fare, I almost felt at home in the crowded little restaurant. The pizza was superb. I was expecting pepperoni, but Fox thought I should try Italian sausage with black olives. It was fantastic. The piece de resistance would have been a good bitter to wash it down with. Knowing Fox had been a veritable teetotaler when I'd met him, I thought his mum may be scandalized at the thought of drinking alcohol--particularly us lads. We weren't only young, we were Oxfords students. I supposed she thought the cola should be intoxicating enough.

After she had her New York cheesecake, we went for a bit of a walk around Greenwich Village. It had been a little warm in the restaurant, but outside in the early evening air, it was bloody hot. Sticky, steamy hot. Fox and I pushed up our shirtsleeves and unbuttoned our collars all the way to limited avail. At best, every time a bus or lorry drove by on the street, we'd catch a gust of air.

Despite that, I was enchanted by my first taste of America. It wasn't just exciting, it was vibrant. Mrs. Mulder was right about the cola--I was intoxicated enough just by the sights and sounds of New York City.

Abruptly, I woke up in the backseat of the fancy Cadillac when we parked in the garage of Fox's house. Not even aware I'd fallen asleep, I was thankful to be back there where an inconvenience like an indiscreet hard-on wouldn't be detected by his mum. It wasn't polite in public and especially not in front of other people's mothers when trying to make a good impression.

Judging by Fox's sleep-slanted eyes, I guessed he'd fallen asleep on the ride, too. Groggy, we collected our luggage from the boot then I followed them inside.

It was bloody hot in the house so Fox staggered off to turn on the "air", he said. In the interim, I waited, watching Mrs. Mulder adjust the lighting downstairs. As soon as she turned on a couple of lamps in the sitting room, I saw some family portraits on the walls. Tickled, I woke, leaving my bags in the corridor and approached, rubbing some of the sleep from my eyes.

From the photo Fox carried of his sister in his wallet, I recognized her well enough. It was the pictures of him that I was seeking. Since there were portraits of extended family, as well, I wanted to be certain. The cute, young bloke in the few family shots didn't exactly resemble him, yet there were distinct similarities of features. "Is that Fox, then?" I asked Mrs. Mulder.

"Yes, it is," she smiled. "And that's his father, Bill, and his sister, Samantha."

I was too focused on Fox. "He looked so different."

"I guess he kind of did, for a while," she agreed. "But if you look hard enough, you'll see he was the same old Fox."

"He was a cute little bugger, wasn't he?" I saw what she meant. I soon recognized his pretty mouth and luscious lower lip. Even in a picture of an adorable blond-haired boy, scarcely out of nappies. "Wait. That's not...?" I pointed at the picture.

"That's him," she confirmed proudly.

"His hair..."

"He used to be blond like you, when he was a baby."

Behind us, Fox entered. "Come on, Perry. I'll show you to one of the guest rooms."

Mrs. Mulder supplied, "I fixed up the guest room."

Fascinated, I was hardly finished studying the photos. I noticed there were very few pictures of his sister and none where she was the only subject. I supposed it would have been too painful for his mum. "Why didn't you tell me you were so twee?"

"What's that?" his mum asked.

Muddled from fatigue, I gestured. "Like a cherub. Then he got right handsome."

Fox scoffed out loud, sounding equally tired. "Me? Don't forget, I've seen pictures of you." He addressed his mother. "He was so cute, if his parents had entered him in a baby pageant, all the other kids would have been instantly kicked out on the grounds of sheer homeliness."

"Don't be daft," I chided, laughing. "I had nothing on that sweet mouth of yours."

"Those big, adorable blue eyes? Those five-inch eyelashes? That perfect little nose?"

I laughed harder. "You'll have to show me more pictures of Fox, Mrs. Mulder. Now, where's that room?" I turned to him. "I'm right shattered and I'd like a shower before I turn in."

In the upstairs corridor with our luggage, where we couldn't be heard, I went on. "I'm not about to sleep on my own, you know. Show me your room."

Following one quick glance toward the stairs, to make sure his mum wasn't on her way up, he took me to his room first. It was stocked with books, a much fancier desk than mine, complete with a hutch, a telly, and a double bed. In there he whispered, "At least my mother won't open the door and poke her head in without permission. Still, we're going to have to be real careful; her room's right across the hall. She's a light sleeper but she shuts her door. We'll have to wait till she's way asleep."

Rushing the telly, I scrambled for the "on" button. "American telly," I gushed. "I've been dying for this. Surely your mum will understand why I've got to sleep in here with you tonight."

"There's a TV in the guest--"

"I don't know a thing about the programming. What fun's it gonna be if I watch it on my own?"

As I fairly oriented myself with my new accommodations, I discovered there would be a lot of little things I'd have to get accustomed to. Light switches, closets, handles, and knobs...At the time, I was too fagged to learn anything new. Once Fox showed me how to work the faucets in the shower then left me on my own, I discovered that the torrential water pressure in the shower stung like needles.

For the time being, I put on my pajamas, did some quick rearranging of my luggage then took my on-board case to Fox's room to wait for him. Planning on doing some sketching on my trip, I'd brought along sketchbooks and art supplies. Between the pages of one of my sketchbooks, I'd tucked one of my best sketches of Fox that wasn't a nude.

I was folding the short sleeves of my open pajama shirt as high as I could when I heard him on his way back, talking to his mum in the corridor.

Immediately, I jumped off the bed with the drawing. It was too hot even for my summer dressing gown, so I'd left it unpacked in the other room. A single-handed attempt to fix the last button of my shirt was unsuccessful; I left my shirt open for the moment and dashed out.

Seeing as Fox was clad in only a pair of very lightweight pajama trousers and no shirt with just a towel about his shoulders, I ceased to worry about my decency. I could see how the fabric draped over him; if that was acceptable by his mum, I was sure I showed less.

They looked up when I stepped out into the corridor. Fox's gaze lingered over my bare belly and chest and then my crotch, giving me new pause. I quickly held out the sketch to his mum, hoping to distract her in case she was offended by my attire or lack thereof.

"I brought you something," I told her. My parents had taught us to show gratitude toward invitations by never arriving empty-handed as a guest. Much as Mrs. Mulder hadn't exactly invited me outright, I hoped to do something to make up for my imposition and had to be grateful she'd not turned me out.

On sight of the drawing, she couldn't have been more distracted--in fact, she was sort of stunned. Gently, she took it from me to study. "My goodness," she breathed. "Where did you get this...?"

Having taken it for granted that Fox had told her I messed about with art, I looked to him before answering. He was way ahead of me.

He laughed. "He drew it."

"Oh," she said, then reiterated, "Oh! It's just beautiful." She couldn't take her eyes off the sketch. "I-I had no idea you were so talented. Fox told me art was your hobby, but I had no idea--"

"I didn't use the word 'hobby'," Fox quickly rectified. "I said he was a frustrated artist who was wasting his talent studying law." He looked over me again.

It wouldn't have mattered what he'd said, being as his mum was too busy gawping at the drawing to listen. "It's absolutely beautiful," she said again, a hand over her heart. "I'm going to have it framed as soon as I can."

"Thank you," I answered properly. "I'm very glad you like it, Mrs. Mulder. Well, come on then, Fox; I can't wait to watch American telly."

Having given myself a great excuse to spend the night in Fox's room, we readily slipped off. Against the headboard, I settled with the remote control. Already I was getting a hard-on that tented my trousers and threatened to pop out my fly.

Standing by the door, I saw he was getting one, too. Despite that, he held off shutting the door, as if deliberating. My turn to look up him. Bloody hell. I'd be damned if we was going to put up with that nonsense all summer.

Apparently, he saw the determined look in my eye when I got up and promptly shut it all the way. Then tossed the towel aside and joined me on the bed, taking the right side again, just like we did at my house.

Even as the telly blazed with a million channels, loud music, and nonstop action on every one he previewed with the remote control, I was much more mesmerized by the sight of Fox's long legs and aroused tadger through the filmy fabric of his trousers.

Sidling close to him, I snogged his utterly exquisite, though scratchy jaw then quickly advanced to his mouth.

He abandoned the remote control in a heartbeat and turned to me to deepen our kissing straight to open-mouthed tasting, pressing, and tongue coupling. As we pressed closer still, I felt him tug on my shirt to remove it.

Once I had the shirt off, he slid down me and mouthed my chest. Hoo, I instantly popped out of my trousers, and soon felt his bare hard-on grinding against mine. It was enough I was excited to be in America and in a new place, but best of all, I was with Fox. I wanted to have sex with him there in his own territory, on his own soil. And I wanted him to stake his claim on me there, too.

Working his way back up my throat, he finally reached my jaw. Again, that titillating sensation of his whiskers against mine.

His sultry lips over mine, he murmured, "All joking aside, you really were the cutest kid I've ever seen..." With conviction, he kissed my face all over. "Too bad you turned out so ugly..." he teased.

I laughed. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you." As if I was.

"You know...you can't sleep in here...You're going to have to go to the other room before we fall asleep..."

"What?" I backed off, suddenly offended. "What you mean?"

Lids halfway lowered, pout intensified, and high cheekbones mildly flushed, I knew Fox when he was aroused. "Guys don't sleep with guys here..."

"She's not going to think anything more than--"

"I mean that in the literal sense. Guys don't even sleep in the same bed together. It would look way too weird if you slept in here with only one bed." Still, he locked a leg around mine, which meant he intended to get off before he threw me out.

I drew him closer with my leg and eyed him steadily. "Well, if you think you're going to throw me out after you've had off, you can think again; I'm spending the night with you and I mean to spend every single night here with you, just the same."

"Look, I'm not defending our customs; I'm just telling you how it is."

I'd never thought to ask questions before, but it occurred to me just then he may have been of the belief that one of us had to play the femme in our relationship. Since I'd never treated him that way that left only me to fulfill that role. Well, he'd better get that thought out of his head. "Fuck your American customs; if that's how it is, I should have stayed home."

"This is serious," he stressed, that sumptuous mouth sensuously brushing all over my face while his stonking tadger thrust into me. "It's only considered one way here in the States and that's the last thing...we want..."

Tugging his trousers open, I gripped his round backside beneath the fabric. "Maybe she'll be more understanding than you think. You saw how my mum was..."

Getting onto his knees, he grabbed my trousers to get me out of them.

A knock on the door halted us both.

Instantly, Fox was off me, fixing his pajamas. I did likewise, both of us fumbling to hide our erections as quickly as possible.

"Perry?" his mum called. Then she went on to say something we couldn't understand over the volume of the telly.

"Hold on, Mom," Fox called. He grabbed the towel to hold in front of himself and gestured at me, then went to the door.

Instinctively, I shot against the headboard, taking a pillow onto my lap.

Partly hidden by the door, Fox peeked out. "What was that?"

Using the remote for the telly, I lowered the volume to hear her.

"I was telling Perry I took some extra pillows to the guest room for him. Is there anything else you might need or like, Perry?" She tried to peer past Fox's shoulder to me.

I'd not even requested any extra pillows, though it was a nice gesture--just an inconvenient one at the moment. The only thing more I was wanting from her was privacy. "Thanks very much, Mrs. Mulder," I responded. "That's plenty, already."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "An extra blanket?"

In that abysmal heat? "No thank you very much."

"Here," she said to Fox. "Let me take your wet tow--"

"No, no," he said quickly. "I'm not done with it."

When he returned with the door securely shut, I set the pillow aside, hardly in need of it any more. I looked to the desk for the chair. "Tuck it under the door like we did at my--" then I took a better look at it. "Bollocks. It's got wheels."

"She's not going to open the door," he said, draping the towel over the back of it, instead.

"If we don't open the door fast enough, she will," I pointed out. "Think she won't get worried, if we don't?"

"Yeah, well..." As he thoughtfully rubbed beneath his lower lip, I saw he'd daunted, too.

"Let's put something in front of the door, then. The footlocker--"

"It'll look too suspicious if we block the door."

Exhaling, I got up and pulled my shirt back on. "Sod it, then. You should have told me it was going to be like this."

"You don't have to go. We can watch TV for a while, then--"

"All of a sudden I'm not much interested in watching telly." I buttoned my shirt in case his mum was in the corridor.

"Come back in an hour or so, after she goes to bed. Or I'll go to your room. I'll know when it's safe."

I knew travel could be exhausting and had heard even worse about long airplane trips. I'd be well asleep by then. "Don't bother."

**SUNDAY--JUNE 20**

It was true about the long airplane trips. The next day, I slept like I'd been drugged. Alone, in an unfamiliar room with the door shut for privacy, I was left alone. When I woke up, it was daylight outside and I was hot. Vaguely, I recalled kicking off the bedcovers, then struggling out of my shirt a short time later. Evidently, I'd tried getting out of my trousers in my sleep, but failed; they were unfastened and half-ways down my backside.

Confused, I looked for a clock on the bedside table. It made no sense. Nothing did, really. Not only was a disoriented, I didn't know where the hell anything was. The attempt at fixing my pajama trousers didn't do much; I had to waz so bad, I couldn't lose my sleep erection and it poked well out my fly. Painfully, I had to hold it against myself, when I stepped out the door.

Beyond that, I wandered out into an empty, silent corridor. No one was around to ask anything. As I became a little more conscious, I remembered where the loo was. Then I made my way back to the bed, collapsed, and slept some more.

The next time I woke, it was because Fox was on the bed shaking my shoulder.

"Are you going to come down for lunch?" he asked.

Detecting a foreign fresh soap scent about him, I knew he must have only recently got up, himself. To my disappointment, he was dressed. Still groggy, I moaned, "At least get in bed with me."

Leaning over me, he kissed as close to my mouth as he could reach owing to the way I was positioned on my belly cradling the pillow. "Ouch," he commented. "You need a shave."

"I'll get up if you help me find my way about. I woke up earlier and was about ready to have a pee in the vase in the corridor. I didn't know where the hell I was, let alone the toilet."

He laughed. "Now you know what I went through when I first got to England."

**WEDNESDAY--JUNE 23**

The first few days in America were a heck of a culture shock. Everything was off to me. Some things worse than others, but even the minor things were magnified, in light of my overall disorientation. I didn't even know where or when the sun was supposed to rise and set. And outside or without the cooler running, the air was unbearably sticky and hot. I'd brought summer clothes, but quickly learned that practically nothing I owned was appropriate.

I had to feel for Fox, on his own in England. When I first became his mate, I saw he had no other close ones. Sad as it was, it wasn't surprising. He was a hell of a lot smarter than the other students, he was a foreigner, and he didn't act like he'd come from a rich, snotty family like everyone else. Being as I impressed with his brilliance, I'd slighted my rich, snotty British heritage, which most of the other students didn't understand, and I thought he was cute, I got on with him instantly.

While I adapted to the different hours, their peculiar fixtures, their confusing titles for everyday things, the odd-tasting food, and a million sundry other things, I still had the heat to contend with at night. Fox's mum wouldn't run the cooler in the evenings. I took to sleeping naked with the windows all the way open. And even though it would have been that much warmer to sleep with Fox, I still longed to share the bed with him.

Within those first few days, we pieced together a tour itinerary. Mrs. Mulder made all the sensible parental suggestions--the sort of things we never would have thought of. We'd need to rent a car, I should ideally turn one of the traveler's checks my father had given me in for cash, and Fox could use a haircut. Evidently, she saw how I uncomfortable I was, and ventured that I also might want to purchase a few new things to wear.

Those were the logical basics, anyway. I for one loved Fox's long hair and protested the last suggestion. On the other hand, I was all for having one, myself. It was too bloody hot to put up with.

**THURSDAY--JUNE 24**

To get on with the holiday, we tried seeing to as many of the preliminary tasks as we could in one day. After breakfast, Mrs. Mulder drove us.

It was a good thing she did because we probably wouldn't have had the sense to have our hair cut any time soon. When I felt the difference afterwards I was thankful she'd seen to it. On the way into the hairdressers', Fox grabbed my armhard and whispered furtively that he wouldn't be pleased if my curls were cut too short. Surprised he gave a toss one way or the other about my hair, I assured him I'd have the hairdresser mind the length, so long as he promised not to be shorn like a sheep either.

His mum who had proceeded into the shop without us, doubled back to see what was holding us up.

Seeing how dead serious Fox was, and having been flattered, I didn't overdo it. I let the stylist re-trim the layers, leaving a much thinner layer down my neck in back. Afterwards, I was a darker shade of golden blond, but I felt a good two stones lighter and twenty degrees cooler.

The same thing happened to Fox's blond. They cut it all off and suddenly he became a dark brunet again. Sure, with his looks, he could have gotten away with anything and still been beautiful, but I'd really loved that lustrous, thick, golden-streaked hair of his. And by the way he looked at me, I knew neither of us were pleased about each other's hair.

Not that it mattered with the physical part of our relationship on hold until who knew when. Even though I got excited thinking about him, I'd not gotten off once since the night before we'd left my home. Not only was I trying to adjust to my new environs on a physiological and mental level, there was also a matter of principle. Essentially, it was beginning to feet as though he'd split up with me. The next time we tried kissing in his room, the moment we heard his mum in the corridor, we gave up. The problem was she was always about. At least my mum got busy with work and Dot performed the housework on a schedule. Fox's mum was likely to be about at any time for any reason.

Clothes shopping hadn't been budgeted in to the funds my dad had given me, so I tried to be thrifty. A couple of new shirts of a lighter fabric should be sufficient. I'd go on sleeping naked. Being a mum, however, Mrs. Mulder didn't see it that way at all. She had the clerk piece entire lightweight, cool outfits together for me. When I told her I couldn't afford all that, she just slipped out a credit card and told me not to worry about it.

Well, I had to worry. I couldn't pay her back, having no income of my own, my family was too well off for me to take charity, and I sure didn't want to have to hit my parents up for more money than they'd already given me. Further more, the shopping was taking too long; I could see how restless and bored Fox was getting, which wasn't too far off from the way I felt. The fact that he was also itching from his haircut, however, was amusing. I tried to save time by trying on as few clothes as possible, but the clerk and Mrs. Mulder carried on about inseam lengths and such, seeing as how I was so tall. She was almost making as much fuss as she would if she were my own mum.

We reached a compromise and she bought me just enough basic clothes to manage on. After a trip home for showers, we went out to dinner for hamburgers.

That turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. The restaurant looked like any ordinary eating establishment. There was no jukebox or shiny chrome furnishings and fixtures with red vinyl upholstered stools and booths. The waitresses didn't wear roller skates. At least the menu was as confusing as I hoped it would be. I had to have Fox and his mum explain a lot of it. Fortunately, the waitress, like every American I'd had to interact with thus far, was charmed by my British accent. She didn't get the least bit impatient over my confusion and even asked me about my visit.

When she'd gone, I conveyed my disappointment over her lack of roller skates.

Mrs. Mulder seemed amused. "Oh, you mean like at a drive-in."

"I drive-in?" I queried. "What you mean? I thought a drive-in was a cinema, here."

"She means," Fox answered, "the hamburger stands where you park under an awning and the carhops come out to bring your order. Only I've never been to one where they really wear roller skates."

"Carhops?" I questioned.

Fox went on. "The carhops are what they call the waitresses who take the orders out to the customers. They hook it on the door of your car. You never have to get out the whole time you're there; you eat in the car."

"That's it," I said. "Like in 'American Graffiti'. When you said we were going to have hamburgers for dinner, that's what I was expecting. Why do they call them carhops?"

His mum supplied the answer, looking chuffed. "Before they used microphones and speakers, the waitresses would come out and hop on the running board of your car to take your order then move on to the next. Thus, they were called carhops."

"Are there any more places like that around?" Fox asked his mum.

Still smiling in amusement, she nodded. "There's the one in Bethel. The Sycamore Drive-In. I think it's still open."

"Why do they use the word 'drive-in'," I persisted, further confused, "in American movies when they're referring to the cinema?"

His mum continued. "That would be a drive-in theater. They were both called drive-ins. You drive your car in, park on a ramp, and watch the latest movies from the comfort of your car."

"We used to love going every summer," Fox enthused.

"I'd like to go to one," I said. From what I understood, drive-ins were great places to make out when one didn't have any privacy at home. Before Mrs. Mulder invited herself, I quickly plunged ahead with the full request. "Would it be all right if Fox and I borrowed the car one night while I'm here, to visit a drive-in theater?"

Fox really keened to the idea. "Yeah, Mom. Could we?"

"I-I suppose so," she said.

As it turned out, the chips were somewhat tasteless compared to what I was used to, but the hamburger more than made up for it. I knew they were all the rage in America and had been forever; the rage was warranted.

Over dinner, we talked about the latest releases at the movies, working up our excitement to go that very evening. Fox's mum mentioned a movie she was interested in seeing, which we weren't. Honestly, I didn't mean to be selfish--I wanted some time alone with Fox.

There was no Teletext in America for purchasing tickets in advance so on the way out of the restaurant, Fox bought the daily paper from a vending machine off the street and we poured over it while Mrs. Mulder drove us back home. We'd seen an ad for a movie on telly called "Poltergeist", which he'd immediately taken an interest in. I was game to about anything, being as my aim wasn't for the sake of the movie.

By necessity, the show at the drive-in theater didn't start until dusk. We had just enough time to drop his mum off and for Fox to run upstairs and fetch his glasses like a good boy, as his mum cautioned. I didn't intend that he'd be focusing much on the screen.

Then Fox returned with the case for his glasses, tossed them on the dash, and got behind the wheel of the fancy Cadillac. We sped off.

"Before we get there," I said, "stop at an offie so we can buy some lager."

"Uh," he glanced in the rearview mirror. "Here in the colonies we're not considered of age."

I gave him a look. "If I have to drink one more cola I'll sick up. You're right brainy; surely you can think of a clever way to nick it."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I obviously don't have all the brains you think."

"Look, it's easy. I'll do the nicking while you distract the clerk."

"What?" At the traffic light, he gave me a once-over. "How the heck do you plan to sneak a six-pack out of a store?"

"I'll worry 'bout that. You just see to the clerk."

"If we get busted my mom will kill us. No, she'll kill me, then call your parents so they can come kill you. Then when she gets off the phone she'll kill me again."

"We won't be getting caught," I assured him, amused.

"How many times have you done stuff like this before? So I know you've got some experience, at least."

"Oh, I don't know. Several. I don't keep a tally."

It was right stupid how one had to be practically middle-aged to buy alcohol in America. I suppose they thought they made up for that by granting practically every business its own car park. Outside of New York City, at any rate. No wonder Fox's mum wasn't used to parallel parking; she hardly had to. The offie had one.

Outside, the shop was emblazoned with the word "liquor" all over the place. Inside, it wasn't just liquor they sold, so it wasn't much of a specialty shop.

Fox wandered toward to the refrigerators where the assortment of cold beers were stored. That was right, Americans drank it cold. I'd get to find out what, if any, was the advantage. Instead of approaching, he pretended to be looking at something on a shelf close by.

"Choose whatever you want," he said.

"Right. You go have a chat with the clerk. Buy something so it'll look less suspicious and he'll busy himself with that. Here." I took a note from my pocket.

"I've got money," he admonished. "What should I buy?"

"A bottle opener."

On my own, I looked over the offerings. There were very few lagers--most of it was American beer. Which I knew nothing about. Fox had withdrawn to do his part, so I couldn't ask him. Seeing a patron already at the paying desk, I saw my opportunity. That should keep the clerk good and distracted.

America wasn't known for its beer. Then I spotted a couple of German brands. The bottles were bloody cold against my skin where I tucked three more in the waistband of my trousers. And Fox was wrong about the brains; I heard him drop the change apologetically while the clerk was counting it back to him.

By the time we got to the cinema, it was dark. When Fox saw the five bottles I'd slipped onto the floor of the car, he was impressed. He cut the headlights for the parking lamps as he drove the Cadillac into the park. I didn't see the ramps Mrs. Mulder had mentioned, but I did get a better gist of the idea, on sight. Being a weeknight, there was plenty of empty space in the periphery.

"Don't park next to anyone," I suggested. "Park at the back."

"Can't," he said. "I'll get a headache."

"You won't be watching the movie," I laughed.

"Two minutes is enough to give me a headache. I'll park off toward the side."

He was right about the duration we watched. We lowered our windows and started on the beer. I was amazed. The chill cut the bitter flavor to an aftertaste. What was left over was almost good compared to what I was used to. Any doubts I had about the strength of the brew owing to the lighter body were quickly dispelled. I felt the buzz from the alcohol quick enough. So quick, I started to get engrossed by the entertaining movie.

After downing the first bottle, I began to really feel the heat again. "Do you think it's hot?" I asked.

Prudently, Fox had put his glasses on immediately after parking. "It's summer; what do you expect?"

I plucked at my shirt and opened another bottle for myself. He was only half done with his. I could definitely see the advantage to the drive-in cinema, despite the heat. I slid closer to him to lean on the armrests between us. He glanced around outside the car, and through the rearview mirrors, hesitant to get closer. Too bad we'd had our hair cut shorter that day. On the other hand, it wouldn't bother me if anyone were to detect we were blokes.

The ordinary, upscale American couple in the film were shown smoking pot. I had to laugh. It was an interesting twist on characterization that made them all the more real and funnier still, knowing the effect. "You ever smoke any?" I queried. In fact, I knew the answer and he was proving it by his silence through the scene.

"No," he said.

"I have," I admitted, wishing I had some to share with him. What I wouldn't give to see Fox stoned.

"You have?" He looked to me, astonished, like I'd expected. "You never told me before..."

"I suppose it never came up."

"But-but you never...I mean, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you do any drugs."

I laughed harder. "It's not like I'm a drug addict. I hardly have the time, money, or means for it. Plus, I spend all my time with you and you're not into that sort of thing." I sobered, looking to him, too, so he'd catch on and slide closer.

On screen, the musical score went dramatic, drawing our attention back.

When I passed Fox another bottle, I got distracted enough from the movie to pass him a kiss along with it. Tentatively, he met my mouth with his. The heat had already prompted me to unbutton my shirt. I'd finished my second beer by then. With both my hands free, I reached beneath his pullover and unfastened his trousers. Fuck the movie; I wanted at him.

After I worked his zipper and pants down, I drew out his hot, soft-skinned cock, which took to quickly firming up in my hold. Much as I would have liked to see the pretty thing, I was so desperate I could live without the visuals. He gasped and protested in uncertainty, then turned down the volume on the speaker and sunk down in his seat against his door to let me at him.

Before long, I shoved the armrests up out of the way so I could lie on him and pin him in place. First, I cut the volume on the speaker completely. We could still hear it through the open windows. Taking his bottle from him, I had another drink and tried to lie on him but the bloody steering wheel was in the way. "Let's get in back," I suggested.

I loved it when his breathing stepped up in short, shallow breaths; I knew his eyes had widened, and was sorry I couldn't see this.

"But-but," he sputtered again. "Someone may see us."

"Can you see what anyone else is doing in their car?"

Pushing himself up on the armrest on the door, he crashed into the speaker before he got a chance to look about. "Well, I don't--"

"I can't," I lied. Without much effort, I could sort of see the two in the next car to our left; they were both gawping at the screen. I sat up. "You get back there first, and I'll follow."

Trousers drawn back in place, but not fastened, he started to climb over the front seat. Then he saw the car to our left and promptly got back in place behind the steering wheel. "I can see everything going on in the next car. If we climb back there, they're going to see us."

"They're not paying us any mind--they're too busy--"

"Tell you what." He dug into his pocket for some money. "Go buy us some popcorn. I'll get in the backseat while you're gone. When you come back, get in back with me."

"What for?"

"'Cause I can't watch a movie without popcorn and for both of us to jump this is seat is gonna be pretty awkward; they're going to notice." He zipped up.

The thought of standing in the queue, fumbling stupidly as I tried to figure out how to pay wasn't an inviting one. "Look, I don't know enough about your money yet. I wouldn't know how to count it out."

"Here." Squinting in the light from the screen, he handed me a note. "Give them that. That'll cover it and they'll just give you the change. You won't have to count anything. Just make sure to get the largest size popcorn they've got. And have 'em put extra butter and bring plenty of napkins."

"Why don't you go get it and I'll climb in back?"

"I can't get out very easily with the post and the speaker. And you're taller than me so it'll be harder for you to jump the seat."

Seeing his point, I backed off. "All right." I fixed a couple of buttons on my shirt.

Before I opened my door, he switched off the interior lights of the car. That should make my return all the more covert.

**FOX**

In the middle of a thunderstorm going on onscreen, I carefully set my beer on the floor in back, then climbed over the front seats. The couple in the next car was bound to be way too engrossed in the movie at that point to notice. Once back there, I considered what a pain it be to get dressed again, but knew that Perry would get me undressed, anyway, whether it was a good idea or not.

With the windows down, it felt too open to take anything off. Still, I appreciated the whole reason we'd come--for some time away from my mother without raising her suspicion. Unlike with his parents, I knew when we went sightseeing in the City, Mom was going to expect us home every evening. Whereas his father had booked us a great room and all the privacy we could want to go with it. I hadn't yet told Perry this news, either; once more, he was going to wish he'd stayed home.

During some minor lulls in the plot, I began to worry if he might have got lost trying to find his way back to the car. I remembered it could be a little tricky trying to find the car on my way back from the snack bar, too, in the middle of a movie, so I used to count the rows.

He returned after a pivotal plot point had been established and I was kind of too absorbed, myself, to explain it. The first thing I did was take the popcorn from him while he settled into the backseat with another beer, against me.

"I like this much better," he commented, taking a handful of popcorn. "'Cept for your trousers. Why haven't you taken them off?"

"Too much trouble. Especially to get them back on," I mumbled.

"We won't be timed on it, will we?" he bantered. "Now who are this lot?" he asked, indicating the latest additions to the cast of characters. "What are they on about?"

Not that he really cared all that much. In ten minutes, we'd put the beer, the popcorn, and my glasses on the carpet and he had me naked from the waist down. I couldn't pay attention to the movie any more, with what he was doing to me. We could always stay through the next movie and see "Poltergeist" again. Whether it was the beer or him or both, I couldn't bring myself to point out that we should wait until the second feature which I didn't care if we missed. Necking with him on the lush backseat of my mom's new Seville was just too intoxicating. It just got better when he lifted my shirt and I felt his bare chest, belly, and erect cock against mine. Though it was sultry and kind of cramped, pretty soon we forgot about any inconveniences.

Once he was working me deep toward his throat, I couldn't have thought of anything else. My view was great too--either the sparkling stars against the black canopy of a summer night, or Perry's shadowed form over my lap. The ecstasy from abstinence for the last several days, since the night before leaving England was incredible. Yeah, he probably would have thought I was a nerd, but I'd been holding out for him. It seemed like it had been a million years, so it felt like heaven when I climaxed. Though he was doing his best to swallow it all, some of my hot ejaculate spilled onto my abdomen. I was thankful I'd asked him to bring the extra napkins.

When I was spent, he leaned back against the opposite back door panting, too. Through the open windows, we heard no more dialog--just music.

Knowing he had to be aching for satisfaction, I carefully shifted to sit up. The seat was wet. Bolting upright, I felt it out with my hands. Not just damp--puddles of wet.

"Perry!" I alarmed.

"Sorry," he managed apologetically, still panting, gaze lowering to the seat. "Couldn't help it."

Lunging for the napkins, I started trying to swab up the evidence of his excitement. "How the heck am I going to explain...?"

"I haven't had off since the night before we left England; what'd you expect?"

In all honesty, I'd never expected that. Learning he'd gone through the same abstinence that I had made all the difference in the world.

**FRIDAY--JUNE 25**

Just like I figured, my mother couldn't see any reason why we might want to spend a few nights in New York City. She also had a hard time figuring why we weren't interested in seeing any of the shows. And this despite the fact that Greenwich, Connecticut was actually a little further from the City than Windsor was from London. Yet it was Mr. Elden-Beck's whole-hearted suggestion that we stay in town. Again, I was reminded how different our parents were and therefore, part of the reason Perry and I were so different.

So Friday, over breakfast, Perry spelled things out to her. Not using the exact words to describe the situation, but words she might understand, so he thought.

In a thoughtful gesture, my mom had bought a popular British blend of tea for Perry's arrival. I already knew he wasn't much of a coffee-drinker, so that worked out okay. The blend she'd bought was one of the ones the Elden-Becks drank, though not Perry's favorite. Still, he was pleased with it. The only problem was, we really weren't tea drinkers and never had been. On his third day in New England, he'd tactfully requested to do the brewing himself. My mom had not only respectfully turned the task over to him, she'd asked him to teach her the proper way to brew tea. I'd been too busy drinking coffee again now that I was back in the States to realize there was a difference.

By Friday, we'd been in the States for nearly a week. Perry was starting to get used to things in the colonies--but just barely. He was definitely brewing his own tea by then, which my mother admitted was the best she'd ever tasted.

The haircut Perry had the previous day seemed to have shocked the hell out of his hair. It just wasn't the same, I noted sadly over breakfast. Well, mine didn't look right after I'd washed it again that morning, either, but I hadn't had so much to lose in the first place.

After the cut, the stylist had blown dry and combed his hair, essentially straightening it. I hated it. I don't know why. I'd seen his childhood pictures and he used to have straight hair. He'd been beautiful then and still was, but I liked his curls. When we got home the day before and showered before dinner, he'd let it dry naturally. At best, I saw only waves and no curls. That morning it wasn't doing too much better. His lightest shades of blond had been sheared off along with his curl. I couldn't figure out why neither he nor my mother seemed to notice or care.

Trying not to look at him, I focused on my breakfast.

The first thing Mom did was hit us with an unexpected announcement. "I discussed things with your father last night while you were at the movies. He thinks it would be a waste of money for you to rent a car, so he's bringing his other one over for you to take, instead."

Now as sensible as that offer was, I knew my dad's real aim was to meet Perry. My dad had to know firsthand anyone who was staying in the house. Other than for relatives, this sort of thing had never happened before. For some reason, my parents didn't believe in sleepovers, let alone a summer-long visit by a friend--essentially a stranger to my parents. Which was why my stay with Perry and his family had been so weird for my parents. And they didn't even know the half of it.

"When's he coming?" I asked.

"This evening," she said, gratefully taking the steaming cup Perry set in front of her. "By 6:00."

Before I could say a word, Perry took over. "This evening? We were hoping to be off before noon. I thought we could check into our room, get some sightseeing in then pop back--"

"Room?" Mom asked sounding scandalized. "What room?"

"You didn't think we'd not want to go pubbing," he gently rebuffed, laughing.

"Pubbing?" She looked at him anxiously.

"What's the term here?" he turned to me.

I thought and flinched to answer. "Nightclubs?"

"That's it," he said with his usual nonchalance.

"What on earth for?" Mom wanted to know. "You're both so young--"

"To meet girls of course," he answered glibly.

Whoa. Huge faux pas. Again, our parents were worlds apart. His parents had been dying to hear that from him. But not my mom. She didn't think I knew anything about sex yet. Well, I had to on a physiological level--not that I was anywhere near ready to go out and pursue it. "Um, well--" I began.

Mom cut me off. "You're both way too young for that sort of thing." She picked up her cup for a sip. "Land sakes. What would your parents think if I let you take a room to pick up girls?"

Appropriately perplexed, Perry tripped over a response. "But-but, when Fox and I went to London, my folks--"

Without missing a beat, my mother went on, staring into her cup. "How would it look to your parents if you wind up getting some girl in trouble because I let you stay in New York City to do things like that?"

It wasn't often that Perry was nonplused, so when it happened it was hysterical. He couldn't even drink his tea. He just opened his pretty mouth, shut it, and said nothing.

In other words, Friday was blown, so we wouldn't get to start our tour until Saturday. That didn't matter that much since we had the whole summer. We'd planned on visiting some museums that day rather than Saturday, because they'd be less crowded. And they were closed Sundays and Mondays. We'd just have to rearrange our itinerary.

That left us with little to do all day other than to wait for my dad to show up later. We couldn't even get in some local sightseeing because Mom needed the car to go grocery shopping and stuff. She offered for us to join her but the thought made me shudder. She must have thought Perry might enjoy it, because she knew better than to ask me.

He wasn't interested, either. The moment Mom drove off in the Seville with the covertly scrubbed backseat, Perry and I lit upstairs. He proceeded to his room to get the lube, he said, as I was afraid Mom might find it if I kept anything like that in mine. I ran to the linen closet for towels. We reconvened in my room were we couldn't get each other's clothes off fast enough, knowing Mom would probably only be gone an hour or two. We were both so starved for it, we wrestled over the K-Y over who was going to get first honors. That was fun in itself. He finally won out. I got to lie back in his lap while he plunged into me and went for broke. Forget all the sightseeing we'd done in England and every place we had lined up to visit in the States; there wasn't a more impressive or magnificent one than watching Perry when he made love to me.

We just managed quick showers and to get redressed in time for Mom's return. Feeling a little guilty, I went straight down to help her unload the groceries and things and help put them away. Perry showed up right afterwards to do likewise; only it was courtesy and not guilt that motivated him.

After that, he went out to the backyard with his art supplies to paint. I guess I'd come to take the yard for granted, because I hadn't noticed anything worth painting back there in a long time. Since I used to have to do a lot of the gardening myself, it pretty much looked mostly like work to me. I'd been gone a whole year. The hanging plants and flowerboxes were overflowing with flowers and vines by design, while Mom's gardener kept the bushes and grass trimmed.

Using the veranda furniture, Perry set up in the sunlight to paint. I joined him with a chair at the table to watch for a while.

He'd not brought any canvases, so he was using watercolors. It amazed me how adept he was at switching mediums. Hell, it amazed me how adept he was even in one medium.

"Ever tried painting?" he asked, tapping off a brush.

"Why?" I countered. "I know I can't do it."

"Instead of gawping over my shoulder, how would you like to have a go at it? For a lark, you know?"

"I can't," I laughed.

"Don't worry 'bout that." He set the other, smaller watercolor pad in front of me. "It'll just be messing about, won't it?"

"Why should I waste your paper or watercolors, for that matter?"

"I don't look at it that way. It'll be fun for you. And I think it'd be cool for you to know what it feels like. It doesn't have to look like a snapshot, you know. It can be as abstract as you want."

He gave me some coaching about the different brushes and how they were used then got me started with broad, wet brushstrokes for the background sky. Naturally, I was compelled to produce a linear rendition of the view. It came out stilted and awkward, rather than free-flowing and aesthetic, like his.

It wasn't long before one of the times he glanced over at my paper he startled. "What you doing? Paint what you see--don't worry 'bout improvising the season. Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm not," I assured him. "But I warned you I can't paint."

"Sure you can." He dropped his own brush back in the water then put his hand over mine. "Loosen up." He guided my hand on how to gently caress or softly dab with the brush, rather than attack. "Well, since you've already started an autumnal scene, you can add fallen leaves and sparsely-covered branches."

"Who said I'm painting an autumnal scene?"

"And surely, not all the leaves turn yellow. Some must turn bittersweet, rust, orange, and the like. Rinse off your brush." He proceeded to swap paint trays.

It was funny, but I'd forgotten to tell him one of the main reasons I couldn't paint. Laughing, I informed him. "I have no idea what bittersweet is. And I wouldn't know rust or orange if they came up and bit me on the ass. I'm colorblind."

He looked up, abruptly. Then smiled. "You're shitting me."

"No, I'm not. Red-green. Haven't you ever noticed that most of my clothes are pretty monotone?"

"Well, yeah. I just gathered the colors you wore were a matter of personal taste."

"All my life my parents had to select the colors of my clothes to make sure I don't mismatch things. Whenever I shop on my own, I always tell the clerk I'm colorblind so he'll piece things together for me. I memorize the outfits the way I'm instructed--I try not to swap things around. Except with jeans. I understand anything goes with jeans."

"Then every time I've talked color with you you just let me prattle on, having no idea what I was on about?" Another artist might have been annoyed, impatient, or disgusted; Perry, however, was fascinated. Setting aside his artwork, he turned all his attention to me. "So what's it like?"

Evidently, Dad called sometime in the afternoon to let Mom know he was going to be a half-hour early. With the assistance of Perry's cooking skills, she easily had dinner ready on time. Slowly her mistrust of my friend was fading as she became increasingly charmed by him. Though he may have set back his progress that morning when he mentioned we meant to take a room in the City, the problem was rapidly being rectified. Prudently, he'd dropped the subject and didn't raise it again, and then he helped out with dinner. Best of all, his gestures were genuine--not forced, insincere efforts to get in her good graces. I'd never known Perry to kiss ass for anything.

Hearing a car door shut, I went to look out the window. It was 5:35 p.m. My dad had arrived in a car I didn't recognize. It was a new two-door Oldsmobile Cutlass.

Dropping the curtain, I went to the swinging kitchen door and stepped inside. "Dad's here," I stated.

"Go let him in," Mom said. "And fix him a drink. Tell him I--we'll be right out."

Exhaling, I started to go. Then paused to eye Perry. "I'd lose the apron before I came out, if I were you." Right. My dad would wonder what kind of fairy I'd chosen for a friend.

When I let Dad in, he went straight to the sitting room to get himself a drink. Being as he was going to be doing me a favor, I decided I should be civil. I fixed him the drink as Mom suggested, and took it to him.

As always, our conversation centered on school. Leaving out all the interesting stuff, I gave him the requisite report.

"Now, tell me about this boy who's spending the summer here with you and your mother," Dad said.

Perched on the arm of the sofa, a distance away from my father who sat in one of the armchairs, I studied him. "What's to tell that you don't already know? You did a background check on him and his family."

"Don't get upset about it." Dad took a drink. "I only want the best for you. You'll understand some day when you have kids."

"Well?" I demanded. "Did his family meet up to your standards?"

He shook his head. "You've got it all wrong, son. I was merely running a legal record check. You know..." He waved his glass. "You can't be too careful..."

"Too careful?" I echoed. "Let me tell you something. Even if it turned out his family were all serial killers, Perry and I would still be friends."

"Just the opposite. His father's a barrister; his brother's a barrister... The first thing I found was that your friend comes from a long line of highly esteemed legal professionals. His grandfather and great grandfather were judges, in fact."

Not that it mattered, but I hadn't known that. I figured they were just lawyers. Perry wasn't the bragging type. "So then why are you asking me about him when you know everything?"

"Legal records are decidedly circumspect in the information they provide," Dad pointed out.

Fortunately, Mom and Perry came in then. She was carrying a tray of Dad's favorite hors d'oeuvres. It was a good thing they came in then, too, because it struck me that one of the things not disclosed on legal records was sexual orientation. Unless one held a record of offenses to that effect. Suddenly I couldn't think of anything other than my activities with Perry that very morning.

Whereas, that seemed to be the furthest thing from Perry's mind. In his usual animated way, he introduced himself to my father and they shook hands. As instructed, Perry had doffed the apron and done away with any evidence to indicate that he'd just been doing something so girly as helping my mom make dinner.

By remaining on the arm of the sofa, I hoped to maintain an aloof enough distance from my classmate when he sat down by me. As expected, my dad grilled Perry all about university and his study course first. He had the tact to make it sound like genuine interest in Perry on a personal level, but I knew my dad. Annoyed that Perry treated his real field of talent as nonexistent, I had a hard time biting back the urge to announce it, myself. I couldn't take listening to Perry's effort to stir his enthusiasm in his studies and was about to speak up when Dad addressed me. "Son, where are you manners? Why haven't you offered Perry a drink?"

Snapped out of the present conundrum, I looked up, surprised. The truth was I'd kind of forgotten that Perry did indeed drink hard liquor. "Uh," I began.

Equally surprised, Mom intervened. "Bill, he's way too young."

"No, he's not," Dad stated. "He was born the same year as Fox. The legal drinking age in England is eighteen."

"Is it?" Mom sounded doubtful.

Being as I was the one responsible for yanking Perry out his home and lifestyle, it was about time I concentrated on his comfort. "Dad's right," I told Mom. Practically leaping off the arm of the sofa, I returned to the bar. "I'll fix him a drink right now. Is scotch on the rocks okay, Perry?" It was one of the view few drinks I knew how to make only because my father drank it.

"Scotch and soda," he replied.

Fortunately, that was my dad's other staple. It occurred to me then that Perry must have been under the misguided impression that he wasn't allowed to drink in front of my mother. That made a lot of sense; he knew I didn't indulge in alcohol when he met me and as of yet, he'd never seen my mother do so, either. Furthermore, I'd never really given him a tour of the sitting room, either than a glance around. He couldn't have known there was a well-stocked bar hidden in the mirrored bookcase. To be honest, I didn't really understand why we had a bar in the new house, either. It was always well-stocked because we didn't drink. Only Dad whenever he came around, which was seldom. Yet, every now and then, Mom would bring back another bottle of scotch or vermouth or whiskey or something when she went shopping.

My mom didn't have anything against drinking alcohol, either, which I should have already conveyed to Perry. She used to throw parties and serve and drink alcohol about as regularly as any normal housewife, I guess. She was actually pretty cool and fun when she got drunk, though I missed most of it, because Samantha and I were always sent off before long.

The same mechanism that had turned my father from ordinary social drinking toward alcoholism had had the opposite effect on my mother. Or at least I thought it did. I didn't see her fix herself drinks and I never detected any alcohol in her Pepsi, Seven-Up, or on her breath. If she was hiding it from me, she sure didn't act the way she used to.

So not to scandalize my parents, I didn't fix myself a drink, too, even though I probably could have used one. The last thing in the world I wanted was for Perry to ever see my parents freak out.

"Land sakes," Mom said when she saw Perry take the old-fashioned. "Now I feel terrible for not having offered you a drink, myself. It didn't even occur to me that they might have a different drinking age in England. And anyway, you look so young. Doesn't he look young, Bill? I swear you look about sixteen."

"Want to recheck all my legal papers?" Perry kidded.

"I do apologize," Mom said. "I'll try and be a better hostess, I promise."

I saw my opportunity right then. "Perry, why don't you show my dad the painting you started this afternoon?" I knew my father didn't know much about art, but I wouldn't be able to stand hearing Perry discuss his future career in law all evening.

"You paint?" Proving the circumspection of legal records, my father was stunned.

"Not seriously," Perry replied after another sip. "It's just for faffing about--"

"Oh, Bill, he's just wonderful," Mom effused. "Perry's painting is simply breathtaking." She got up. "He also gave me the most lovely portrait of Fox. I'm going to go get it right now. Perry, bring that painting you were working on this afternoon."

"It's nothing really," Perry persisted.

Knowing that it lay drying on the chest of drawers in his room, I got up, too. "I'll get it, Mom."

**PERRY**

The motorcar Fox's father so generously lent us was a year-old Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. It wasn't a bad-looking car if you overlooked the conservative factor. I knew Wyeth would probably laugh but he wouldn't turn it down either. It had all the luxury amenities like power windows brakes door locks cloth interior and air conditioning. Even our father's Mercedes didn't have all that let alone Wyeth's old Jaguar. So what if the Cutlass was equipped with an automatic transmission and looked a bit stodgier than the cars we dreamed about owning? It could have been a lot worse. At least it was a coupe.

Mr. Mulder acquainted us with the controls and automobile manual after dinner. When it came time for him to leave, I thanked him appropriately for the use of the car noting that Fox didn't act anywhere as grateful. Then his father rang a taxi to get to a local airport. That meant he lived so far off he'd have to take a plane to get home and suggested a magnanimity well out of proportion from what Fox had led me to believe about the man.

On our first meeting, I didn't see the basis for Fox's dislike of his father. True any sane individual puts his best behavior forth in front of strangers. Whatever atrocities had occurred within the family I wouldn't have dared hazard to speculate or downplay. I could however be all the more grateful for the family I'd been blessed with despite their irreverence and sometimes less than practical nature.

Granted Mr. Mulder was a bit of a square and all but the man was well old enough to be Fox's grandfather. Comparing the family photos to the way he appeared when I met him he seemed to have aged more years than Mrs. Mulder had. That was impossible. I minded not to bring up any of the taboo subjects curious though I was about them and we got on all right I thought. He was impressed with my career goals and family background and that was enough to keep him from turfing me off his ex-wife's property. And if he had oh well.

The only thing that sort of disturbed me about Fox's father was the striking lack of resemblance in the two. Not just in looks but behaviors and thought patterns. There weren't that many between Fox and his mum for that matter which made it all the more curious.

Behind the closed door of his bedroom, I brought up some of these points while we watched telly after we'd readied for bed.

"I didn't think he was so bad," I concluded.

"It's not like he's some kind of a demon from hell or anything," Fox replied distractedly trimming his fingernails under the lamplight.

"That's the impression you gave me," I exaggerated. "I rather thought he'd be a belligerent prick who'd give us a hard time lending us the car."

"He's not like that." He paused to bite a cuticle.

"Don't do that," I reprimanded. "Let's have at 'em." I took the clippers from him. "I'll not let you mess up those lovely hands of yours."

"I can cut my own nails," he reminded me.

"You may as well use secateurs the way you go about it." Prompting him to move from the headboard, I took his spot and then his hand to hold under the light. Not that I knew anything about manicuring--I just intended to use more care about the job on him than he did.

"What are those?"

"You know." I gestured. "For trimming the hedgerow."

That amused him at least. "Why do you always make out like my hands are so holy or something? How are they any better than yours? You oughta take a look at your own; not only are they handsome they're talented."

Compliments aside, I'd never thought of things like that. "Yours are right pretty."

"You mean girlie?"

"No, in a masculine way" I hastened to rectify. It was a graceful girlie beauty that made them so attractive only I couldn't tell him that and give him a complex the rest of his life.

"No, yours are pretty in a masculine way," he countered insistently.

There was no arguing his long fingers since I'd been blessed with same. "You think so?" I looked over my hand.

"I always thought so. Which is why I can't figure out why you act like mine are so great."

Taking his hand again, I went back to work. "Yours are aesthetic in a refined sort of way. At any rate, we were discussing your dad. I thought he was all right."

By Fox's abrupt silence, I gathered he was all done with discussing his father. Apparently, he was only debating how to continue because he went on. "You know how your father puts his arm around your shoulders or pats you on the back? Well my dad won't. At least not any more."

That still didn't qualify the man for condemnation. "Maybe he believes you might think it a bit nesh now that you're an adult."

"He stopped doing it a long time ago. Even with Samantha."

There was no covering for that one. "So he's not comfortable showing affection like my dad...Still Mr. Mulder doesn't seem like the overly strict or critical sort. You should be glad of that."

"He's strict."

"He can't be that bad or he would have given us a long list of rules about driving his car. All he said was 'drive carefully'. So would you if you were lending out your brand new motorcar to anyone our age--particularly if one was a stranger. My brother's way worse. He won't lend anyone his motorcar but me and he'd skin me alive if he knew I ever let anyone else drive it. You saw how hard put he was about handing the keys over to our dad."

"Why do you think I didn't drink when I first got to England? There's nothing unusual about drinking at eighteen or nineteen but by the way he acts he'll probably still give me shit when I'm thirty."

Starting on Fox's other hand I sort of developed an inkling of understanding. "He didn't let you date either did he?"

"I didn't even want to imagine what his reaction would have been if I'd asked to borrow the car to go on a date. Or even if I'd told him I was going to go visit a girl. To be honest Mom would have had a cow too."

"He didn't beat you did he?" Now that I'd met Mr. Mulder, it really didn't seem possible much as I'd wondered about it. The bloke seemed far too the retiring sort.

"Well no. It's nothing like that." His gaze searched the bedcover. "Every once in a while he'd make us feel like we were mistakes. Like he wished he'd never had us. That was after I was about six or seven. I don't remember him doing that before that. Maybe I was just too young to comprehend."

Shocked I blinked at him. "That couldn't have been right. He wouldn't do a thing like that."

"You saw how cold and distant he was. After I'd been in England a whole year. You saw how my mom was in comparison."

"Mums are much more the emotional type."

"Would your dad have acted like mine if he hadn't seen you in a whole year?"

Seeing Fox's point, I had to concede. Whenever I was away at uni the next time I saw Dad he would always hug me and pat my back. Which I didn't find nesh at all. "Did he ever say anything like that to you or your sister?"

"Not exactly. It was the look on his face. In his eyes. When we lived in Chilmark, he used to have to take a ferry to get to and from work every weekday. After a while, he finally just stayed on the mainland during the week. We wouldn't see him for five days running. Then when he did come home on the weekends, he'd often get impatient and annoyed with us over anything and everything. I guess that must have been a crappy existence for him. He probably would have been happier if he'd never married and had kids. What I could never figure out is why he didn't just quit that job if it added to his misery. He could easily have taken a city or government job on the Vineyard. In time, he dumped the misery of his family but still works in the same department for the State.

"I told you before I think he sent me all the way to Oxford to get rid of me. If anyone ever took a poll, they'd probably find out at least ninety-five percent of the people on the planet were conceived by mistake. I'm not bemoaning that. Fortunately, for most people their parents come to love them anyway and never let them know they weren't meant to be. It's weird about my dad though. I mean I did the math and figured out my parents had been married for more than a year when I was conceived. That doesn't mean me and my sister weren't mistakes but it's more obvious when you find out your parents got married because they had to. The other weird thing is that he didn't used to act that way. He used to be different. He used to mess around with us. He taught us how to play baseball, he'd take us to amusement parks, drive-ins...He didn't used to work such long hours back then. It's almost like he was two different people or if he'd been replaced by a time-release pod-person," Fox added with a laugh.

Finishing up I set the clippers aside then drew next to him and gave him a comforting hug. The whole thing made me shudder. "If he can't see what a brilliant piece of work he made in you he's a bleeding idiot. I'd like to have a word with him myself on your behalf. First for making you feel an awful thing like that then to knock some sense into his head."

The longer I held him the more his warmth permeated me. Not just physical warmth but that of his personality, his character--the vivacious, deep, complex person I was so daft about. Even if we didn't make love, I wanted to sleep with him just to be next to him.

At length he spoke again. "Not you, though. You were no mistake."

Wishing my mum hadn't told him that I tried to think of a way to make it better. "It was all different with my folks..."

"Way different. Your parents are completely different. They're great. Not like mine."

"Oh, no your mum's fantastic. She adores you." The last was evident--it was just the first I had to force. I couldn't imagine having such a cold fish for a mother.

"You know I think that'll make a good topic for an essay next term. The influence on offspring of planned parenthood as opposed to unplanned."

Pressing him back on the bed, I kissed him. "You might have something there...Make sure you mention how enticingly sensitive and sexy it makes the unplanned offspring--even if that unplanned rubbish is all in his head."

**FOX**

I already knew Perry could probably make the pits of hell seem like Disneyland. The first times I'd visited the sights in New York City and Connecticut I'd thought it was fun; however, none of those trips had anything on attending them with Perry. One of the traits about him I really admired and respected was his reckless ability not to be intimidated. The stuff my parents always admonished me not to do or ask he'd commit without a second thought--plus he did it with flair and finesse. Little by little, he taught me not to worry about what other people thought.

Like in London, we visited the museums as well as the tourist sites. The Statue of Liberty the Empire, State building, Coney Island. The idea was that we were supposed to drive home every evening but that didn't take; early the second afternoon he tried to get a little overly affectionate in public. As the afternoon wore on, he became increasingly bolder about it. It was hard to rebuff him. If he had been a girl, I wouldn't have had to. I really loved it. Fighting not to passionately kiss him in response out there in public was a hell of a challenge. I started wondering how he would have translated into a female. For one he would have been fucking beautiful--the tall, built, incredible leggy, blue-eyed blonde that every guy dreams about.

While we waited to be seated for dinner, I had to fend off his attempts to neck with me in a restaurant. Then at dinner, he rubbed my leg with his in every possible way. I gave in to getting a room since he paid for it. It was just an ordinary room unlike the one his father had paid for in London so not to waste his limited funds. Then I was left with the task of calling my mom and explaining that we were just too tired to make the drive back to Greenwich. I'd thought there might have been a modicum of truth to the story but Perry turned that around in a hell of a hurry.

We'd picked up some K-Y before we got the room, then we couldn't leave each other alone. Often our sex would be almost like having it for the first time all over again. I barely got off the phone with my mom before I gave in to the passionate kissing he'd been tempting me with all day. Partially undressed, we couldn't bear to draw our mouths from one another even though we were absolutely throbbing against each other.

For the rest of the evening and the next morning, we went crazy. Sometimes I wondered how the heck I'd ever survived before I met Perry. Even though that pretty much went for everything, it would have been more than enough if it was just for the sake of the sex.

Every time I fell asleep from exhaustion, I'd continue to have erotic dreams about him. I couldn't say for sure how many times we came over the duration we were there. I do remember being sore, exhausted, and unable to come no matter how hard we tried. I also remember warding off his handling from extreme discomfort when I was too worn out while he, at that same stage of fatigue yelped in outright pain when I unsheathed and touched his glans. I couldn't feel what he did but I think I can testify that the proponents against circumcision are absolutely right; there were notable differences in our levels of sensitivity. Before I thought about that factor though, I'd already become an opponent of circumcision, fascinated as I was by his foreskin.

When we did finally get out of bed the next day we were too tired for sightseeing so we went home. The next day we told my mom we'd worked an outing into the trip that would require some extra funds. She willingly supplied the money. Ordinarily I would have felt so guilty about deceiving her like that I couldn't have done it. But I was desperate to be alone with Perry. We packed to accommodate our real plans for an overnight stay then snuck our bags out to the car behind Mom's back. When we drove to the city, we honestly did have an itinerary. Only we made the mistake of checking into a hotel first thing.

It was the trip to Mystic Seaport that did it. Sure my family and I had gone there plenty of times. I just never appreciated the romance of the port until I went with Perry. Actually, I could honestly say I'd neither fully comprehended or appreciated romance before I met him. I thought I had with Phoebe. Only with her, I was the only one trying to be romantic while her flirtations consisted of banter and sexual innuendo rather than romance. It was different with Perry. Yeah, he bantered and teased plenty--only he could also be surprisingly romantic without any prurient overtones.

It was frustrating seeing couples with their arms around each other, holding hands, kissing because we couldn't do it. We had to pretend to be nothing more than good friends roughhousing, joking--doing all the normal things guys do together. The next thing I knew I was looking at him wanting to hold him, kiss him, make love to him. He'd feel it and shift those dazzling, vivid blue eyes to me. I'd have to break the gaze before I'd start to hyperventilate. If anyone saw us looking at each other like that there'd be no question of what they'd see.

**TUESDAY--JUNE 29**

For some dumb reason I was surprised to learn that Perry knew how to do yard work. I guess I figured since his parents had a housekeeper they also had gardeners. My assumption wasn't too far off--he assured me that they did have gardeners but there had been years when they hadn't. It was Mr. Elden-Beck who didn't know how to start a lawnmower or prune bushes and trees.

To make up for the extra money I'd talked Mom into giving me I put time in doing things for her that she would have had to pay for. I knew Perry was no spoiled Oxford brat but I hadn't expected he'd know how to do as much manual labor as he did. Nor did he complain protest or try and dodge doing work. Mom would remind him that he was a guest and had no obligation to work around the house, only he didn't listen. His parents had raised him to repay hospitality so he did his best to try and live up to that.

Over lunch while we were taking a break from yard work sitting on the rear veranda eating the sandwiches Mom had brought out to us, I had a vision of Quonochontaug. It was only because my family had pretty much put Quonochontaug out of our minds that I hadn't thought of it already.

The revelation hit me so hard I didn't even think to say a word to Perry. I just ran inside to find my mom. She was heading up the stairs with a basketful of folded laundry.

"Mom! Mom!"

On the second floor, she stopped to look back. "What is it? What happened?"

"Nothing," I panted. "I'm just wondering...Would it be okay if I took Perry out to Quonochontaug?"

Realizing there was no crisis she proceeded to my room.

I raced after her.

Diligently she was already putting away my clean and folded clothes.

"We're going to need the keys," I ventured.

"You mean you want to go to the house? What for? It's a beautiful place to visit. He doesn't need to go to the house."

"It's a great place to visit," I concurred. "And stay. I'm thinking Perry and I could stay a week or something."

"What on earth for? You'd be on your own with no food or power or water."

"We don't care about that. It'll be fun. It'll be an adventure."

She went back to putting my clothes away. "He doesn't like it here?"

"No. Nothing like that. I haven't even mentioned Quonochontaug to him. I just now thought of it."

"Then why do you want to stay somewhere else for a whole week?"

"It's not that we want to stay anywhere else," I lied feeling my argument weakening. "I just thought it would be fun. And the house isn't doing anything...It's just sitting out there getting dusty..."

"What will you eat?"

"Mom," I laughed. "We're adults. We'll manage."

"I was afraid of this." Sighing she picked up the basket and marched out.

Shit. Fearing the worst I raced after her again. Had she seen something? Damn I'd warned Perry. I couldn't count all the times he'd brazenly committed some untoward act with the door open.

In the guest room, Mom went about putting Perry's clean clothes away. Her mouth was set. "Don't expect me or your father to put up money for parties. Tell Perry he's just going to have to tap his own parents for--"

"We wouldn't be going there to party," I laughed, deeply relieved. "Just to stay a while."

"I'm not an idiot. You're two young, healthy men. After what he said about taking a room while you went sightseeing, well what else do you expect me to think? I just hope you had enough sense not to do anything too foolhardy, yourself, the times you did stay out overnight."

I went to her. "No money for parties I swear. Now I'm not saying we intend to invite girls there but, Mom...I am an adult now...If I didn't have any interest in that kind of thing that would be something to worry about, don't you think?"

Hands in a drawer she paused then started to laugh quietly. "You-you're right" she nodded. Then shut the drawer. "As long as you're responsible about it..." She sighed. "I'll call this afternoon and have the utilities turned on. It's the end of the month. Might as well make it the whole month."

**FRIDAY--JULY 3**

It turned out Perry also knew his way around a kitchen too. He not only knew how to cook but he knew how to bake, fry, saut--all that stuff. It also turned out that my mom gave us a generous budget to buy food. She said we were both too skinny and couldn't afford to lose another ounce. The downside was that we were forced to grocery shop on our own but as usual, Perry made it painless and even fun.

We tore the plastic off the furniture while I gave him a tour of the place. It was pretty small with only two bedrooms so that didn't take long. The property outside was an overgrown jungle so I didn't show him much of that. It could wait. For some reason the bedroom Sam and I used to share fascinated him. The detailed lighthouse lamp with a bulb inside that we'd leave on for a nightlight. Our collection of books, plastic, dinosaurs, and shells we'd found on the beach over the years. Samantha's dolls and trinkets. As he studied her belongings, I began to understand why he was fascinated. Unable to stick around, I left to see if the TV in the living room still worked.

Doing my best not to think about my sister I inspected the antenna wires. In my dad's toolboxes, I knew there were bound to be a pair of wire strippers; the exposed copper had deteriorated. Fixing the bad TV reception would be a simple operation.

Suddenly Perry was behind me. He slipped his strong arms around my waist and held me watching the TV picture over my shoulder. "Maybe we shouldn't have come here..."

"Come on. It's gonna be great."

"The last thing I'd want would be to reopen old wounds..."

"Hey, I'm fine" I lied.

"How 'bout we shut the door on your old room and pretend it's not there? For a start. If that's not enough we'll go back to Greenwich. I want to be alone with you but not somewhere that's going to depress you." He kissed my jaw. "Being with you is enough--we don't have to be alone."

My parents had a Victorian-style brass and porcelain bed in their room. It had been only a couple of years old when we'd stopped going to Quonochontaug. In all the years in between, the gold head and foot rails hadn't lost their sheen. In the center of the room, Mom had hung a lacy shade over the light.

How Dad put up with it I'll never figure out. I guess otherwise the wood paneling throughout the house looked pretty masculine so along with the Victorian-style bed he let her add a few feminine touches. Not only was it too girlie for me and Perry it hung so low it created enough of a hazard to give us a good excuse to get rid of it. The bare bulb however was kind of ugly so Perry salvaged the light cover from the other bedroom and we improvised on the hanging wires with a staple gun for the time being. At least it was out of our way.

For dinner, we had Heineken. Along with the TV in the living room, we fixed my parents' TV. We slept in there with the windows thrown open. I couldn't help feeling vulnerable. I wanted to feel normal again under that roof. I didn't want to be haunted by my sister's absence there. Even though I couldn't bring myself to say any of that Perry, just knew. He didn't ask or pry--he just held me.

**PERRY**

When Fox told me about the family summerhouse, I hadn't known what to think. If I hadn't already been confused enough about his family fortune I became baffled all over again. I pictured all sorts of things on the drive there. We'd packed prepared to stay a month. We'd taken such good care of the Oldsmobile thus far Mr. Mulder insisted we keep it the month.

It had been a bit of a drive to Rhode Island. Finally, I asked how his parents could own yet another piece of property. I'd seen for myself that his mother did absolutely nothing to earn a wage. The story about his father's job with the public sector had become too fantastic to believe. His mum didn't live in povvie so Fox could attend university at such a posh institution overseas. His parents had brand new cars--his father two no less. My parents didn't buy new motorcars every year and they both earned a good wage.

"They've had the place a long time," Fox had explained behind the wheel of the Oldsmobile and the smart pair of sunglasses I'd bought him on our first excursion. "Since before I was born. My dad said they acquired the house through his job. Like the one in Greenwich."

"Oh." Suddenly it made sense. "Then the property doesn't really belong to your mum and dad."

"Actually it does."

"But you just said your dad's job supplied the houses. Like in the military."

"Nah-ah. I don't really understand it either. I thought the same thing. But my parents' names are on the deeds. If they wanted, they could sell any of the houses themselves. My parents don't have to make mortgage payments on any of their property."

"You mean to tell me your father's job with the public sector buys property then hands it off like gifts to their employees deed and all?"

"Like I said, I don't get it either."

"If I were you I'd plan on getting a position in the public sector as a psychologist after graduation." Confident that our futures had been nicely secured for the both of us I fixed my own shades and leaned back in my seat for a kip.

We got to work mending the summerhouse right away. While I was sort of envisioning a pleasant little New England cottage, that turned out not to be the case. The exterior of the house was all right--it was that naff wood paneling and dreadful dcor inside that I found objectionable. If the overkill of framed prints had been hung for the express purpose of hiding the god-awful wood paneling, I couldn't say they were any improvement. The colors and subjects were so sorely out of place from the interior design of the house as well as each other; the result was nothing short of an assault to the senses. To worsen matters most of the artwork was right poor. I tried not to say anything about this; however, Fox eventually noticed my flinching regard of the walls and generously gave me permission to take down anything I thought offensive. I made a mental note to replace everything exactly the way it had hung before we left.

Then we cleaned scrubbed and dusted inside. I would have killed to paint the kitchen cabinets another color rather than their bilious shade of avocado green but couldn't spare the funds. The Hoover needed a new belt and power cord, which were easily within budget so we saw to that. Outside we fixed loose boards in the covered veranda a few loose shingles on the house and a broken windowpane. Then we tackled the garden.

Halfway between the garage and wooden fence surrounding the property stood a small fenced-off enclosure for the bins. Obviously, it had been added as an afterthought because it was made up of entirely different wood than the rest of the fencing. In cleaning out the house, Fox led the way to open the wooden gate of the enclosure. He paused studying the dirt walkway beside it. On the ground lay a few fresh cigarette butts. We'd not seen any anywhere else.

"Looks like there's a trespasser about," I observed.

"You haven't been smoking," he said.

"Nah. Didn't even think of buying a pack of fags" I supplied, suddenly considering the option. There were plenty of ashtrays in the house.

"Whoever the hell it was better not show up again," he intoned warningly, sharply surveying the open way-in from the street.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of doing the housecleaning and garden work was watching Fox at it in short trousers. He had long, slender legs. Again, like his hands there was a hint of femininity about them that made them incredibly sexy. When I asked him to wear short trousers again the next day he balked. Then laughed.

"You've got a thing about my legs now?" A towel about his waist after his morning shower he looked down himself.

In my trousers, I leaned back on my elbows on the bed to regard him. "Yeah, I got a thing about your legs. Not just now though--I've had it a long time."

He laughed harder then dug into another drawer. "All this time I thought you were the one with the great legs."

My turn to laugh. "You think so?"

"Without question. I'll make a deal with you. I'll wear shorts again today if you start wearing them too."

"Didn't bring any."

"But it's sum--Never mind. I forgot you come from a place where it rains three hundred and sixty-five days a year--of course you don't. You can wear mine." He brought two pair from the drawer and gave me one. "I'll take the scissors to some of your jeans."

"And cut 'em up?"

"It'll be the only way for you to get a tan. And give me a chance to admire your legs all summer."

Seeing him trade off the towel for his underwear I intervened again. "No pants and you can shear my jeans."

That gave him thoughtful pause. "If I have to go without underwear then so do you."

"Fair enough," I agreed.

**FOX**

It was ironic what my mom was convinced was going to be going on at the old summerhouse. Instead, Perry and I had a great time settling in. We didn't find any more evidence of a trespasser; whoever it was apparently had enough sense to stay away once he'd figured out the house was inhabited again. After we got the lawnmower running, we trimmed the lawns front and back. That was the only task we allowed each other to wear long pants for.

On the Fourth of July, we had a barbecue. Shortly before my family quit going to Quonochontaug my dad had bought some new deck furniture. When we'd left that last summer, we'd diligently covered it all and stored it in the garage. So Perry and I shoved the old weather-beaten stuff aside and put the really decrepit pieces out to be hauled off with the garbage. Then we brought the new furniture out of storage.

For Perry it was novel. He'd never had a barbecue before. And like with a lot of things he got very excited about this All-American pastime. He was lucky I'd helped my dad enough times to have some working knowledge of how to clean and tend the charcoal grill. Being an Englishman, the only grilling Perry had ever tasted had come from restaurants. Between the two of us, we managed to put together some pretty good hamburgers and grilled corn-on-the-cob. To make up for the missing French fries--or "chips"--he made a killer potato casserole.

When we were in the midst of all the preparation, I heard the phone ringing inside while I reassembled the wet barbecue on the rear deck. I hadn't thought about the phone, but apparently, Mom had had it turned on too along with everything else. Since virtually no one else on the planet knew we were there, it could only have been one of my parents.

With Perry in the kitchen starting dinner, I didn't bother to run for the nearest phone. Once I had the barbecue ready to add the charcoal, he came out one of the French doors, a towel over his shoulder. "Your mum's on the telephone."

That marked the beginning of her frequent near-daily calls for the next couple of weeks.

From the private beach, we'd have a panorama of whatever firework displays happened to be going on along the coast. My family and I used to watch them every Fourth of July. So after dinner Perry and I threw a blanket down and lay out on the sand in the dusk with the portable tape player and looked up at the stars.

"I'm not sure I should be out here with you," Perry said.

"Why not?"

"It's right traitorous of me to go about celebrating your country's independence from mine."

I had to laugh. "So you're not celebrating. We just happen to be lying out here on the beach. Can we help it if someone happens to start setting off fireworks? Anybody would look. That doesn't make you a traitor does it? Our countries are allies after all."

"Just think. If we'd been born a couple of hundred years earlier the only way we might have crossed paths was in battle."

It was a weird but interesting thought.

"I'm only teasing you twit." Turning to me, he nuzzled my ear. "I don't give a hang about any of that. You yanks had every reason to tell us to sod off."

**PERRY**

We'd not meant to completely renovate the house but we did need it livable. Still the odd job here and there nagged at us and we'd take care of it even though we could just as easily have left it be. In a week, we had a lot more time to faff about.

The beach was beyond a cliff; to get there we had to walk down a path amidst rocks and a band of woods. The trail had been more or less "paved" with stepping-stones that had overgrown in spots where we had to trim back the brush. It was a picturesque, lush green area. The back garden was well hidden from the neighbors. I couldn't wait for a chance to try my hand at painting the landscape.

Fox began to make a routine of getting in the ocean every day. That would have been all very well if he hadn't tried to convince me to join him. I couldn't swim and told him so. Consequently, I had no suit, which posed no deterrent to him. Though he would have rather I went out naked, until we got back to shops he was all too happy to loan me his. I'd venture only so far out but after that, he'd be on his own. I didn't need to know how to swim to have a lark splashing and roughhousing in the waves lapping up on our very own private beach.

It didn't take long before our neighbors began to come 'round. They turned out to be the friendly sort. Particularly the girls. I was at odds about them. There they were showing lots of skin, quite attractive, and tempting as all hell. If I hadn't been with Fox I wouldn't have hesitated a moment to get to know them better.

Silly boy was astonished and flustered when he twigged that their interest extended to the both of us. They invited us for a swim, which I couldn't attend. After they both tried coaxing me out for a bit, assuring me they'd stay really close by to make sure I didn't drown, Fox cut in reminding them of the undertow. So one of the girls volunteered to stay ashore with me while the other beckoned him on.

Keeping my mouth shut and struggling to maintain a neutral expression I waited for his decision. I knew if we gave in to some seemingly harmless socializing it would escalate and the girls would continue to pester us through our whole stay.

Then Fox looked to me. Not imploring not impatient.

"You see..." I told the girls, "We've got a previous engagement. As a matter of fact we should be off, Fox."

It didn't stop of course. And it wasn't only the same two girls either. Any time Fox and I were out on the beach in daylight girls would show up. They'd invite us to go swimming, boating, jet skiing, and the like. If not any of that, there was always a party to attend somewhere. I ran out of excuses fast. I even came up with the story that we had steady girlfriends. That made no difference.

It was impossible not to fancy the girls in their scant bathing suits. When they were around, I'd feel a distinct desire for female. It would have been so much easier if I was a proper homosexual, only I wasn't. Yet when I was alone with Fox, I had no desire for anyone else. I'd forget that anyone else existed until the girls showed up.

In the interim, I took to sketching and painting--sometimes in the front garden and sometimes on the beach. Fox would attend me to sunbathe and chat for a while, but eventually he'd restlessly slip off to see to the laundry, put the dishes away, Hoover the house, clean the bathroom--anything. It had to be boring for him while I busied myself over a sketchpad or behind a canvas.

One early afternoon I was out on the beach laboriously striving to capture the hues of the surf with the contrasting sails of catamarans and the like using watercolors. A few clouds had been chasing about against the brilliant blue of the sky providing some drama to the scene. Fox had gone back to the house so I was alone.

Out of nowhere, I heard a couple of girls giggling. Lowering my sketchpad, I saw two we'd previously met. One was particularly buxom and both were very cute.

While they fussed over my painting, without Fox around I quickly became intoxicated by the sight of cleavage and shapely feminine hips and ass. I hadn't been with a woman since Cammie last December and all of a sudden, it seemed absolutely irrational for me not to take advantage of the situation. He had no idea about Cammie and it hadn't done any harm to my relationship with Fox.

With a quick and probably ineffective rinse of my paintbrushes, I packed up in record time. A bit of watercolor left on my paintbrushes wouldn't ruin them at any rate. The girls willingly helped and even carried some of my gear. My hard-on tented my short trousers being naked underneath. It occurred to me that the girls might have had themselves a free look up my trousers while I was sitting way down in the beach chair holding the sketchpad at my waist my knees wide apart.

"Which one of you lives the closest?" I queried.

The girls exchanged looks. Vickie, the buxom one, eyed the Mulders' summerhouse. "What's wrong with your place?"

It was an excellent question for sure. The answer was that Fox might have either jumped the girls himself or given me a sound beating. I wouldn't blame him for either. "Oh...Well you see...Fox has his girl over. There's only the one bedroom and all..."

"We could go to the cove," Tanya suddenly suggested. Most any fellow will testify that even though an ample set of knockers will get his attention first any set will do the trick. She was pretty and brunette too which I'd always fancied.

I didn't know about a "cove" though. "You mean you both live with your families?"

"Does it matter?" Vickie queried.

"You're both over 18" I presumed.

Taking my waist, she drew up against me and pulled down a cup of her bra to flash an alluring erect tit. "What do you think?"

At that point, I ceased to care how old they were; I was ready to fuck them both into adulthood by experience if they weren't there already.

"Perry!"

Despite the sweep of offshore wind, I recognized a lovely voice. Scarcely past adolescence on an East Coast Yankee accent. Ordinarily it was soft and pleasant but this time I heard an unmistakable grating edge to it.

I turned 'round.

Enough clouds had gathered to pass in the way of the sun. Fox stood at the bottom of the rocky pathway in his frayed cut-up jeans. His sun-bleached hair tanned skin long shapely legs and heavy bulge were utterly magnificent.

"Pardon me" I think I mumbled to the ladies gathered my gear from them and raced back to Fox.

The gathering clouds turned into a storm. Appropriate for the circumstances I had to admit. Fox had snatched the drapes closed over the French doors casting more darkness into the sitting room. He stood while I sat tucked on the sofa legs closed in the shame I felt for the blind lust I'd had for twat.

"Is that what you really want?" he demanded. "Because if that's what things are going to come down to ultimately then take it now. Stop fucking with me."

"That's not what I want..."

"Don't lie. You had a fucking hard-on. You want it; you can't help it. You're bisexual. I haven't literally found out what that's like myself but for sure you're instinctive need to procreate is alive and well. You will always be attracted to women."

My guilt made me all the more miserable. I lowered my head. "I said I was sorry..."

"I don't want apologies I want honesty."

"But, I am honestly sorry." Confused I looked up him. God, he was so beautiful it hurt. His fringe had grown out some since his haircut to fall over his forehead, enhancing his innocent adorable appearance. He was a heart-stopping sight all the way down.

"Don't be." Fox sat down on the coffee table watching me steadily. "The last thing you, of all people, should be is ashamed of would be to procreate."

Through the drapes, I saw a flash of lightning. I blinked. "I wasn't trying to procreate you daft twit. I wasn't thinking anything. I saw tit and ass and went stone stupid."

"That's what natural instinct does. So let's work this out now. I just want to know the who and the when. Don't sneak off behind my back."

"What? You want me to plan a date?"

"I guess you should since it's inevitable."

"Inevitable?" The subsequent rumble of thunder punctuated my shock while the mild headache I'd felt earlier turned to a lancing pain through my skull. "I've got no interest in doing any such thing now."

"The next time you see them you'll think differently. I don't blame you."

With mixed feelings, I gripped the sofa cushion. I suddenly knew what he was after. "You want at it, too..."

He got up and paced off. "Forget it. It's insane. I couldn't."

Fox? Considering an orgy? Affronted, aroused, and well aware of the way his bisexual instincts were suffering I didn't know how to respond. Faintly I managed, "I suppose one day you'll be the one sneaking off behind my back..."

"I couldn't." He shook his head.

"You're trying to justify my actions in advance for yourself."

"They don't need justification. The only thing I'm trying to justify is why women still turn me on so much. I don't need that."

On onslaught of raindrops stormed the roof. "That's simple: you're bisexual, too," I reminded him, watching him pace.

"Yeah, well I fucking wish I wasn't!" He kicked the chair.

"It's all right." Despite the stabbing pain in my head, I got up and took his arms reassuringly. "I understand. I'll do whatever you chose."

**FOX**

I always remembered thunderstorms in Quonochontaug as exciting. Despite my parents' admonitions about the danger of lightning striking the tall pine trees in front of our house, I'd do my best to sneak outside so I could see the white caps on the churning surf illuminated by the dazzling light show.

When a tree in one of the neighboring yards actually did get hit, I shifted my observations to take place from a window. The view though safer was considerably less panoramic.

Not that late afternoon.

In the flashes of lightning through the uncovered window and the flicker of lamplight, I lay beneath Perry on the Victorian bed. Every chance I got I'd look over him through our fevered kissing. What the hell had I been thinking? Despite cleavage and rounded hips, the girls all paled in comparison to him. The male body could be just as sexy as the female--and his happened to be one hell of a beautiful example.

When he reared up to mount me I was rewarded with the sight of his sleek male musculature and fully erect penis, his perfectly contoured glans on uninhibited display. Even with my gasp from the initial discomfort of his penetration, I knew right then there wasn't a damn thing any woman had that could rival that.

**PERRY**

The next day as I wiped the counters down after breakfast I looked out the window. The morning mist had been heaver than usual after the storm the evening prior only by then it was burning off.

I'd woken up in a new state of mind. Even if I didn't understand it as I lay with Fox stroking his hair gently kissing him I couldn't think of a time when I'd felt the way I did. Not just pleased--euphoric. To the point of feeling pissed. I wanted never to unwrap myself from around him.

So far, everything had gone storybook perfect. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy and was wonderfully receptive to my giddy mood and banter. It was as though we were both pleasantly tipsy.

Though I'd not finished my painting I preferred to forsake it and start a new one of some other scenic spot on the property grounds. One where I couldn't be seen from the beach. I knew humoring Fox was inevitable. The evening before he'd humored and satisfied me beyond merit after my shameful behavior. Only I couldn't bring myself to share him.

In fact, I chose to spend every moment of the next two days with him. My desire to paint had been lost to my longing to be with him complicated by my need to reassure him that I'd not abandon him again. With a bit of coaxing I managed to keep him from going down to the beach.

The next morning while we were still in bed he wanted to know why I'd quit painting.

"'Cause..." I replied, lying on my belly with my arm tucked under my pillow studying him. "I'm having more fun doing things with you."

"I like it when you paint."

"What's there for you to like? You don't like posing so there's nothing for you to do."

"That doesn't matter. I like watching you paint. I like seeing you use your talent. And of course the results never cease to amaze me."

"I'm not really in the mood..." Shifting closer I kissed his shoulder.

After that, he took it upon himself to get me in the mood. He dragged me to a local art shop to get me all excited about purchasing an easel since I'd refused to pack mine and any new supplies and conveniences I might want. Then he insisted on paying so I couldn't leave the shop empty-handed. In turn, I covered the next several expenses.

**FOX**

By collecting the new easel, the art supply boxes and the portable stereo myself, I forced Perry to resume his craft. I didn't fully comprehend the importance of harmony between mood and creativity and still don't. What I did know was that a vital part of Perry's essence had abruptly shut down. I was confused. My guess was that he felt so guilty about his attraction to those girls he was falling all over himself to make it up to me. Evidently he was so concerned he'd hurt me he seemed ready to sacrifice whatever it took to do the job. The instant I'd seen him flirting with them I'd been hurt. Hurt then furious. It was when I started to tell him off and I saw how truly sorry he was that I suddenly realized how wrong I'd been.

I'd already been completely convinced of his remorse but god did he prove himself the way he made love to me that night. Since then things had deliriously incredible. There in Quonochontaug we were free to be affectionate all we wanted. We'd found a comfortable zone where we'd kiss and hold each other, tease playfully, make love and still maintain a casual degree of male camaraderie. Our interaction was becoming completely affectionate. It felt impossibly wonderful. Particularly for a guy who'd never felt anything like it before and had suffered some pretty serious changes earlier in his life. And I'd thought winning Phoebe's attention had given me the most spectacular feeling a guy could have.

Being as I couldn't do a thing with the art gear, myself, Perry was forced to gather what I couldn't carry and follow.

The sun had burned off most of the morning haze so it was warm enough for us to go out in shorts and button-up summer shirts. I made sure he picked up the beach chairs leaning against the house then I headed for the walkway down to the beach. I'd missed the smell of the morning breeze coming off the ocean in just the few days we'd hardly stepped out of the house.

"Wait up," he called trailing. "Not down there."

I stopped to look back. "Why not?"

He hung back. "I want to find a spot up here in the garden. I think maybe I'll paint the house."

It had never struck me as being particularly picturesque. As he veered off to his left, it occurred to me he might be afraid the girls were likely to show up. Come to think of it, I didn't care to meet up with them again in any hurry either. Perry had agreed to arrange things for me but I'd lost any interest in the matter that same evening. I knew I honestly couldn't sleep with someone just for the sheer experience of it. I sure didn't need any more sex than I was already getting and even with Perry's full consent I had absolutely no desire to have it with anyone else.

Nevertheless, I thought it was kind of funny that he was afraid of the girls. If it had just been about avoidance, he wouldn't have made up an excuse about painting a different location. He would have just said he didn't want to deal with the girls wouldn't he?

Once he found what I'd have to agree was a vantage point that actually made the house appear surprisingly aesthetic, we set up. Because I meant to keep him company, I'd brought a book with me to read. Now that I didn't have to sleep alone in my room any more, somehow I seldom got the chance to read.

"So," I posed, "you're never going to paint the beach again the rest of the time we're here?"

He shrugged noncommittally.

"You're afraid of the girls," I kidded.

In the process of positioning the easel I'd put together last evening, he straightened to eye me. "You want we should go down and look for 'em?"

As quaint as I'd always considered British phraseology Perry made it all the more dear for me. I had to play a little further with him. "I wouldn't want to traumatize you by making you have to pretend to know what you're doing." After I placed his supplies on a chair, I came to help tighten the wing nuts.

"What you on about?"

"I get it now. You've never really been with a girl either. All this time I was so sure you had a ton of expertise with women. In reality that would have been your first time with a girl."

"That's right daft."

"Look if anyone understands how that feels, it would be me. It's just that I was honest about it with you. You should have told me the truth in the first place. You know you don't have to try to impress me."

Unfortunately, he wasn't getting ruffled. That didn't mean that my assessment wasn't correct, though; I pretty much expected that knowing how unflappable he was. "Good. 'Cause if I had to start I wouldn't know how."

"Come on. It's okay. You don't have to pretend any more."

"But, I never was pretending."

With a fresh canvas in place he got his supplies arranged the way he liked them.

For those few seconds that I'd developed doubt I'd come to hope it was so. "You mean you actually had intercourse?"

"You sure you want to discuss this?"

"You didn't go that far did you?"

"Well, yeah I did."

"Oh..." I disappointed. "Then you're not afraid of the girls."

"Problem is..." He met my gaze a moment. "I know I promised and I feel right bad about it...I just can't bring myself to invite a couple 'round to the house. It ain't fair to you, I know."

It would have surprised me and disturbed me a lot more if still he meant to go through with it. "That's okay" I assured him.

"It isn't and I know it." From one of the trays he took out his manual sharpener and one of his numerous art pencils. "I gave you hell about Green then I was ready to run off on you, myself. I know you're not going to fall in love with one of them or be so overwhelmed you'll give up blokes and chase women the rest of your life. It's just that...I don't want to share you."

"No, it is okay." I smiled. "See, I don't want to share you either."

Despite that I took on several tasks at once I was still restless. Manning the radio waves reading and fetching drinks didn't distract me enough. It wasn't just watching the progress of Perry's skill but observing his frown of concentration and every blessed square inch of him in candid detail that I enjoyed. He'd always get too focused to notice. This time I had the added bonus of watching him slap away insects or scratch when they landed on him. When he complained about their abundance I had to laugh; he was the one who'd chosen to work in a grassy area.

In time, I had to ask. "Was your first time with a guy or a girl?"

Hard at work sketching in the house he started. "What you want to know that for?"

"I told you before I'm interested in your background."

He slapped another insect off his leg then scratched, making use of the opportunity to prevaricate. "That's a rather broad question isn't it? First time what? First kiss? First crush--?"

"You know what I mean. The first time you had sex with someone."

"Bloke."

"I meant the first time you did the honors."

"Bloke."

That had been my guess--I just wanted confirmation. "Sounds like you were pretty much focused on guys. What made you decide to try girls, too? Was it the incident with your brother's friend? After your parents freaked out you thought you should date girls?"

"Nah, that never occurred to me. I just got attracted to them."

"When was that? How old were you?"

"I dunno exactly." He laughed. "Probably the same age as every other bloke. How old were you?"

My memory automatically kicked into archive retrieval mode. "Fifteen. I saw these Hustler centerfolds. I'd kind of noticed women in sexy ads before but those centerfolds really drove it home for me."

"And I thought I was a late bloomer..."

"Why?" My turn to laugh. "How old were you?"

After a quick mental calculation, he replied "Fourteen. How old were you when you first noticed you liked blokes?"

"It wasn't quite as profound a revelation. Over time, I found myself checking out the guys in the locker room without realizing I was doing it or why. I don't think I felt a distinct enough attraction to put two and two together until I was seventeen. What about you? When did you first notice--?"

"You're not going to tell me none of them looked at you."

"Everybody's bound to get checked out one time or another out of sheer curiosity."

"I'll wager you got checked out a lot more than you knew and for far more than simple curiosity."

That was a scary thought. But then Perry had always been under the delusion that I had a great body. How someone with his artistic sense could think that was beyond me. "How old were you when you figured out you were attracted to guys?"

For a moment he froze. Then resumed, distracted. "I thought for sure you'd want to know when I did my first bird."

No insect lover myself a swatted some buzzing creature away from me with my paperback. "That's going to be my next question."

"I was just messing about. You don't really want to know all that."

"I do, though."

Sighing he replaced the pencil in the supply box then removed the upper tray to dig deeper. "The first time I was ever with a girl I went all the way. It was the summer before I turned fifteen."

I nearly fell out of my chair. "You're fucking kidding. Fourteen? I thought you said you were a late bloomer. No way." I swatted him with the book next. "You're fucking with me."

"But, I was a late bloomer" he maintained laughing as fended off my blows. "You saw my photos. Can't lie about that, can I?"

In fact, I'd had Mrs. EB provide the year or Perry's age as much as I could keep her explanations and anecdotes for each photo on track. That much was accurate. At thirteen, he'd still looked like an innocent ten-year-old. I relented my attack. Probably weary of my interrogation he'd decided to get creative in answering the question.

"It took till I was nearly fifteen to come into my own," he added.

"Your own what?"

"My first emission, you plonker. What you think?"

"Really?"

Having found the tubes of paint to start with, he picked up the second supply kit from the grass and opened it on his lap to forage through. "How old were you?"

"The same," I said. I was thankful he'd relayed the information first; I would have felt like a three-time loser if I hadn't known that.

"What month?" he asked.

We were only a month apart in age nearly to the day, him being my senior. I thought I'd let him impart that first, too. "What month was it for you?"

He thought. "Well, since I forgot to wire the London Times about it, my best guess would be very late June or early July. My folks nearly always go on holiday around that time of year and it was after they left."

Once more, I was relieved. "May. Early May. Damn, you were a late bloomer. You were only a couple of months shy of fifteen. I'd thought a little over fourteen-and-a-half was late. So when did you really do your first girl? At the very youngest, I'd guess seventeen."

He shrugged. "I told you already."

"No fucking way" I insisted. "You didn't sleep with a girl before you'd had your first emission."

"Didn't say that, did I?" He uncapped the turpentine he'd been searching for. "This should hold the bugs off. It was soon after that. Couple of weeks at most."

I blinked. I knew then he wasn't lying but still I couldn't believe it. A couple of weeks after I'd reached that milestone I sure couldn't have imagined taking a girl to bed. In the first place, I hadn't had any girlfriends at that young age so I would have had to make one in a hell of a hurry. However, Perry and I were so different in the category of self-confidence and with his good looks, it was entirely plausible he'd had a girlfriend. Once it happened for him, he'd probably jumped at the chance to have sex with her and I couldn't blame her for being so overwhelmed by him she'd given in.

Then I remembered his previous admission. "Wait a minute. You said the first time you did it it was with a guy. So right after your first emission you ran out and did it with your boyfriend then a few days later you did your girlfriend?" That much socializing alone would have killed me at fourteen going on fifteen--never mind juggling a boyfriend and a girlfriend let alone adding the very complicated subject of sex to the mix.

"Nah, it was nothing like any of that," he laughed.

With that, I was completely baffled. "Huh? But you said--"

Palette now on his lap he picked up his empty glass of ice tea. "How 'bout another 'round?"

**PERRY**

It was a pleasant surprise but I really took to domestic life with Fox. At his request, I started teaching him how to do a bit of cooking and all. Fixing at least a simple meal so not to starve seemed innate to me. Maybe that was because Mum had hooked Wyeth and me into cooking when we were in short pants. Fox seemed content to sit out in the garden with me while I sketched and painted. The bothersome bugs didn't seem to care much for paint thinner and when I set it between our chairs we were spared from most of them. Since we couldn't be seen from the beach or any of the neighboring homes, I could see no reason why Fox didn't do his sunbathing in the nude. He gave in--only if I painted likewise. I didn't hesitate to meet his demands.

I'd noticed I'd been developing headaches on an abnormally frequent basis up until I'd quit my art for those few days. Once I picked it up again the headaches started all over again. Not as painful for the first few days but in time they got worse. Fox suggested I may need glasses. Well I wasn't about to object about any detrimental effect on my appearance--I didn't care and besides Fox was bloody cute in his. Like everyone else, he seemed to think I was some sort of a raving beauty and wasn't pleased with the notion of spoiling my looks with a pair of naff specs. My translation of his words. He advised me to get contact lenses.

When I found myself dropping aspirin on a daily basis and having to forsake sex for the pain behind my eyes, I decided it was time to take daylong breaks from the canvas.

Quonochontaug was a small town without much traffic and perfect for bicycle riding. We could have patched and repaired Fox's bicycle but the only other one was for a young girl and I couldn't afford to waste my funds on a new one. Unlike home buses there were about as rare as a pterodactyl, which I found right curious.

We tried taking to sports.

We'd already tried out his baseball equipment; he'd taught me a bit about the game, but other than catch, it lacked for want of a team. Same thing with football or rugby. He introduced me to "Frisbie" which we played only when we were really bored and restless. Despite my inability to swim I rather liked the idea of hiring a boat like the girls had proposed-- so long as we did it on our own. It seemed his dad had tried to teach him to sail but they'd had to give it up in no time owing to something I wasn't even aware of--Fox had a bad tendency toward seasickness. I would have thought him to be quite the seaman considering that he'd always resided seaside and harbored a strong affinity for the ocean.

At any rate he'd never meant for me to quit painting so one day he took it on himself to ring the local eye specialists.

We'd come in from tending the garden and I was preparing lunch. At the table he presented me with the results he'd found. I studied the figures he'd jotted down; they were in American dollars. Because I'd not had too much experience in dealing with American currency, as Fox would often spare me the trouble we both managed the conversions.

"The eye exam" he began "is going to be about..."

Evidently, I'd not properly sussed the value of the American dollar compared to the British pound. My calculation couldn't be accurate. I let him continue.

"Fifteen pounds. I checked a few places and they all charged--"

I was surprised to learn my estimation had been dead on. "Yeah well I'm not putting out any fifteen pounds when I can get an eye exam for nothing back home."

Apologetically he rubbed his brow. "I know but that's what they all said. Then there's the glasses. Apparently they charge separately for frames and lenses."

"And how much is all that?" I quickly converted the next figures. "Twenty...Thirty...That's another fifty pounds!"

"That's dependent upon the frames. And that's just an average price. I asked about contacts. They're around--"

"Sixty pounds" I further calculated. "Well that's it then." I tossed the paper back at him in dismissal. "I can wait till I get back home to get the bloody things."

Setting his sandwich down Fox gestured waiting to swallow before he went on. "You've already given up studying art at university--I'm not going to let you quit altogether. I'd rather go out and get a job right now to buy you contacts than see you give up your art until who knows when. Probably forever."

Astonished I blinked at him. "You would?"

"I'd do it yesterday if I could. I'll get dressed and go start looking right now."

Before he could get to his feet, I put a hand over his. "That's how you feel about it?"

"Yeah. That's exactly how I feel."

Looking over his intent pout, I saw the prospects for a future with Fox laid out to me. He'd stated them before and I'd been too unfocused to pay them proper mind. He'd never let me pursue law. I'd have to end it with him for me to do that because he'd never be able to stand by and watch me waste whatever artistic talent he felt I possessed. If I didn't end it with him, he'd leave me in time.

While Fox was out I spent the next few hours pacing the kitchen as far as the phone cord could reach jotting down numbers on the same tablet of paper as I rang 'round to determine how to secure a work visa. Evidently American public sector offices were no better organized than in England. I was redirected from one office to another and left waiting inordinate lengths of time.

By quarter of three, he hadn't returned and I still hadn't received a proper address to report to and an estimate of how soon I could expect to look for work. Damn Fox but I knew he'd taken it upon himself to put in inquiries rather than just purchase the local newspaper to peruse while we held further discussion.

A half hour later, I had my answers. It would be weeks after I'd turned in my visa application once it had been verified to be in order before I'd receive it. We'd be packing to go back home by then. Through the window, I saw the Cutlass return. I went out to meet Fox on his way to the veranda. He was holding the newspaper and his glasses' case.

"I got a job," he announced.

"Already?" I'd pretty much expected as much.

"Yeah." He came up the steps. "The owner remembered me. Well he didn't actually recognize me but he remembered my family. And my name. The only hours he needed someone though was for the evenings."

"Evenings?" I echoed. "And you agreed?"

"It's not like this place is the enterprise capital of the world," he laughed. "I had to take whatever was available."

The summerhouse stood at the end of the lane so traffic never passed the gate other than for the tipper and the odd wayward driver who happened to turn down the wrong road. From the veranda we couldn't see any other houses no matter how hard we peered through the thick foliage and fencing. I pulled him to the swing we'd earlier cleaned of dust and cobwebs and sat down with him. "I won't have it. I'm the one who should be paying for my own glasses. It took a bit of doing but I rang the immigration department about applying for a work visa."

His eyebrows raised in innocent surprise. "That'll take way too long. It could be months before you get your visa. We probably be back at Oxford by--"

"We will. Surely, some of the neighbors might need some gardening or repair work done about the house. It wouldn't have to be a proper job in that case just a services-rendered sort of thing. I should be able to earn a hundred and ten dollars soon enough."

"I don't know." Fox studied me. "Most of the people who live around here have gardeners and hire professionals to take care of stuff like that."

"I won't charge as much as the professional services though. And you know I can manage simple jobs. I can also service cars--change out motor oil fan belts hoses and the like or just give them a good wash and wax if that's all they need."

"How do you expect to find out if anyone needs any of that done?"

"All I have to do is call 'round."

"At the diner I was offered fifty cents an hour over minimum wage. Guarant--"

"The diner? Doing wash-up? Dumping rubbish? Oh no. Not for you."

"Well what about you? You're planning to do manual labor yourself. Why should I be exempt and not you?"

"This is all on my account," I said knowing full well I'd insist every bit as hard on doing the labor for him if the situation were reversed. "I'll pay for my own eye exam and glasses. You ring that fellow back and tell him you won't be taking the job after all. What am I supposed to do without you about in the evenings at any rate?" Putting my arm on the back of the swing behind him I drew him close and stroked his hair. "I couldn't get on."

Hanging about while Fox rang the diner I made sure he declined the position.

Then the very next day we went out to call on the neighbors. I knew nothing about soliciting and asked Fox if he'd ever done anything like it. He hadn't. Thus, we'd have to fully ad lib.

Interestingly we met with surprising success for the most part. Laying one of the plastic tarps from the furniture down in the boot of the Oldsmobile we transported the mower and petrol or whatever tools we'd need then tied it shut with hemp.

Up until then I'd been confident we had the problem with women relatively sussed by avoiding the beach. It turned out to be more complicated than that. After we began working, we came to take notice of the fact that we'd been hired on strictly by women. I'd attributed that to the understanding that most husbands were away at work during the day when we would solicit. We were also always requested to work during the day.

The majority of our employers seldom left us on our own. Even when we were cutting the grass, they'd frequently watch from a window. Initially I thought they were just being cautious; after all, they didn't know me and the few who remembered Fox by name at least hadn't seen him in ten years. It didn't take long for me to realize what they were on about when I'd see them eyeing Fox or feel their gaze on me. The older ladies would ply us with drink food and rabbit; the middle-aged ones would do the same only they were usually dressed to show a lot of tan and cleavage; the ladies from twenty-five to middle-age did all that and more flirting outright in spite of wedding bands.

On occasion, I'd develop a headache only not as severe as the ones I'd acquire with my artwork. They'd hit when I had to work outdoors without shade for a good while--particularly when I did anything that required a bit of close focus. After the first one, I took to bringing a bottle of aspirin along; when our employers weren't about, I'd pop a couple and get on.

To discourage them I kept my conversation to a minimum and when Fox went on too long with them I'd break it off. It wasn't that he was flirting in response--he just didn't catch on about that sort of thing. When I told him what the ladies were doing out of their presence he said I was right daft. Evidently, he changed his mind; right after he cut his own conversation to a minimum except with me and the very next day decided we ought to wear long trousers loose shirts and underwear from then on.

That didn't work. I was so bloody hot and uncomfortable I had to switch back to short trousers with nothing underneath and sleeveless cropped or open shirts and told him to do the same. I didn't mind that the women were having off ogling him. Not only did it get us jobs but we were often paid more than the original fee agreed upon.

In a week's time, we'd earned over three hundred dollars. That was quite a bit more than Fox would have earned at fifty cents over minimum wage we calculated in fewer hours and tax-free. It was then we considered keeping at odd jobs to earn enough dosh to stay on in Quonochontaug the rest of the summer. We'd already been asked by a number of our employers if we'd come back regularly. While they said they were more impressed with our work than that of the professionals they usually hired on I mused over the probability that their real objective was to feast their eyes on Fox. No matter. A couple of times a week should do it.

**FOX**

Knowing how completely clueless Perry was about the trip to the optometrist in Westerly I went with him into the examining room to talk to the doctor. So it wouldn't seem too strange I explained some of our situation--we were roommates attending university together at Oxford in England and this was his very first visit to the United States. While I'd hoped that would explain why I needed to be attentive on my friend's behalf as he was completely out of his element in a foreign land in fact my elucidation earned us a lot more respect and understanding than I would have thought to imagine.

Once I informed the doctor that Perry had never worn glasses in his life and I'd been wearing them since I was fourteen that seemed to validate my account of his history. Which was good because Perry wasn't being particularly forthcoming. I also made sure to tell the doctor to do an examination specifically for contacts rather than glasses knowing Perry wouldn't bother. Nor did he mention his artwork until I brought it up thereby giving the doctor a platform on which to base the right questions. Again, I knew Perry wouldn't have considered it of any importance and that would have greatly impeded the exam.

I asked to be called in after the exam was over. Not because Perry wasn't capable of making decisions, but should it turn out that his headaches were being caused by something more complicated than I'd thought, I knew his generally casual nature would make him downplay the diagnosis. Or if he did need correction he'd probably nix the contacts and choose a cheap pair of frames ala Elvis Costello.

In time, the receptionist called me. Putting aside the magazine I'd been perusing I went back in still decked in my own glasses.

By the relaxed tone of discussion going on between Perry and the doctor I was relieved; it didn't sound like a referral to a neurologist for further tests would be needed.

The minute he saw me Perry moved to get up. "Good news. My eyesight's perfect and all I need is to wear dark glasses whenever I'm in the sun and do my art in the shade."

Considering some of the vicious headaches he suffered, it didn't seem possible the solution could be that simple. I looked to the doctor.

"That's not quite what I said" the doctor intervened amused. "First of all it's important you wear only polarized sunglasses--not just any. You see eyestrain from glare is par for the course in people with light-colored eyes. I'm sure it happens to you too" he said to me. "You just don't realize it. You know how vision works. Light waves bend through the cornea and pass through the eye to the retina. In bright light, many light waves hit the cornea at once. Against a dark iris a lot of those light waves are absorbed. Not so in a colorless iris like Perry has. So the waves bounce all over the place within the cornea and literally bombard the retina with an excessive amount of light."

"What do you mean 'colorless'?" I was confused. What did I know about color?

"Blue eyes actually have no color," the doctor explained. "They have very little to no pigment. They only appear blue for the same reason the sky and sea look blue. Change the color of the background and they'll reflect and appear that color instead which you may have noticed already."

Perry interjected with a laugh. "Don't bother talking color to Fox; poor bloke's color blind."

"Really?" the doctor inquired of me. "Or is he just kidding?"

"I'm protanopic," I replied. "I failed a color test when I was in grammar school then my parents took me for formal testing."

"That's interesting," the doctor said. "I'm sure you were told how rare it is to be color blind. Has it caused you many problems?"

Before I could answer, Perry did for me. "Yeah it does. He can't bloody well paint!"

"It would take a hell of a lot more than normal color vision" I argued laughing "for me to be able to paint. I'd need talent first."

Once the doctor finished chuckling, he went on. "As it happens Perry's ires contain practically no pigment at all which makes the problem that much more severe. On top of that he already greatly taxes his eyes simply by doing artwork--our eyes really aren't designed for close work like reading writing drawing...You put the two factors together and it's pretty much a bad situation made worse."

That made sense. "Then what Perry said was right; all he has to do is wear polarized sunglasses whenever he's out in the sun and stay in the shade when he does his art. The headaches will stop and he'll be fine."

"Well no" the doctor continued. "There's no way to guarantee that. It wouldn't be practical to work in the shade. That would cause its own eyestrain. He can try wearing a solid visor--not the bank teller's type with the tinted insert--or a hat with a brim to cut down some of the sunlight from above when he does his art outdoors. The problem is that won't have any affect on the glare around him so the only other thing he can do is limit the length of his sessions."

"Limit?" Perry didn't sound too enthusiastic. "To what length? Two or three hours?"

"Everyone's different" the doctor replied. "You'll have to determine what your own tolerance level is. Three hours would probably be way overdoing it though. How long does it take before you get a headache?"

"I dunno. I don't watch a clock when I'm at it."

Since I was the one who went back and forth to the house to bring drinks or check laundry I had a much better idea of how long his sessions could last. The doctor was right; the headaches had been interrupting Perry's work in increasingly shorter intervals. "About three hours" I said. "Anyway it takes him around that long before he goes for the aspirin."

"I thought you said aspirin didn't help" the doctor pointed out to Perry.

"I keep hoping" Perry mumbled.

Closing the examination the doctor got up from his stool. "I'm afraid aspirin aren't going to solve the problem. Keep that up and they'll eventually start causing you stomach upset. We can show you some excellent polarized sunglasses and fit them for you or you can purchase a pair at a department or drug store. Just make absolutely sure they're polarized and that you wear them during the day when you go outside even when it's hazy. And limit those sessions to two hours or less."

Perry got up as well. "I've barely set up in two hours' time. It'd hardly be worth using oils any more would it?"

Hand on the doorknob the doctor paused. "I'm sorry I can't give you a better solution. I do have other patients with the same problem in varying degrees who've been able to continue their close-work hobbies outdoors with the use of prescription sunglasses. Some of them are artists too."

"But," I said, "I thought his vision tested perfect. He doesn't need a prescription."

"Right" the doctor nodded. "But since those patients all require correction anyway I simply prescribed them polarized lenses with a slight amber tint. Amber actually enhances natural light waves thus the tint additionally improved their color perception as well."

Which was why the doctor hadn't offered the solution to Perry. Before I could disappoint too greatly he spoke up. "Can't you have a pair of specs like that made up me for without correction? Just the proper tint?"

"I can of course." The doctor hesitated. "They'll cost more than any nonprescription pair you can buy at a drugstore. In fact..." He considered thoughtfully. "I can actually do you something even better than that." Then brightened. "And being as you're a student--and a foreign one at that--I'd say you're entitled to some discounts."

What the optometrist had in mind was worse than I feared--bifocals. Magnification in the lower lenses to reduce eyestrain coupled with nonprescription upper lenses for distance viewing. I cringed at the thought of Perry having to wear glasses like my dad. Straights could be annoyingly dense at times; of course, the doctor didn't understand what a criminal act it would be to mess with Perry's looks. If he'd only been born with a cunt instead of a dick, I'm sure the doctor would have cracked a few vertebrae in a monumental effort not to spoil or obscure that beauty.

When it came down to choosing the frames, the results were unexpected. As long as a person had to wear glasses opticians were supposed to do their best to make up for the whole degrading experience by selecting frames to flatter the wearer. Somehow, Perry managed to look great in every frame he tried on--even when he was goofing off. Since the doctor did cut Perry a discount and we could afford it, I had him get a rimless pair so not to hide his face.

While awaiting the finished product he cut way back on his artwork and we put in a few more jobs for the neighbors. Once he pointed out that they were looking at us, I noticed it. Not so much myself but the women were definitely eyeing Perry. It was harmless enough though because he didn't respond to it.

The last Sunday of July, we got up late and then only briefly. Yeah we were supposed to get dressed and go to the store only we went back to bed after shaving and showering. All it took was for us to playfully wrestle each other onto the bed and we forgot all about the groceries for another hour.

Consequently, I was nuzzling Perry's ear toying with his curls when we heard a knock on the back door.

Raising my head, I looked up. "Someone's at the door."

"Whoever it is can bugger off," Perry murmured steering me down for a kiss.

The knocking finally ceased then I heard the back door open without force.

"Shit!" I leapt up. "It's gotta be Mom or Dad! They both got keys!"

While scrambling to pull on some shorts and a shirt I heard my dad call "Fox? Perry?" With the bedroom door wide open had he walked in on us it would have been fatal.

I scarcely made it to the hall shutting the door behind me when my dad and I espied each other at the same time. He was in the living room. I hadn't quite got the shirt on yet which I proceeded to do while I stepped out to meet him.

"Are you barely getting up?" Dad asked. Being a Sunday, he was dressed casually in a sport shirt and lightweight summer pants.

"I guess so," I had to admit. "I am on vacation."

"What about Perry? He hasn't gotten up yet either?"

"Um," I began, trying to think of the best answer since we were supposed to have separate rooms. That meant he had to be sleeping either there on the living room sofa or in my old bedroom. The sofa of course was completely made up. "I guess he is."

"I knocked on the door but no one answered." He showed me his key. "So I let myself in. I thought maybe you were down on the beach."

"Oh yeah...We could have been..." I tried to think of why Dad would have shown up unexpectedly. Probably to let us know when the utilities were going to be shut off again and that he needed his car back. He could have called in advance I felt.

"I noticed you fixed the placed up. The gardening, the repair work outside. Mind if I look around in here?"

Like I could say how much I minded. "No. Go ahead. Did you see the kitchen?" So Perry could escape unseen from the master bedroom I had to do was get my dad back to the kitchen or dining room. In the meantime, I hoped he was hiding any incriminating evidence in sight in there since my father was planning to snoop.

"What happened to all the prints?" Dad blinked at the nearly bare walls.

"Nothing" I quickly assured my father and tried to lead him back to the dining room. "They're around."

"But why did you take them down?'

Fixing a couple of buttons of the shirt I'd salvaged--which was one of Perry's--I explained on the way to the kitchen. "You know Dad...Perry is an artist. He tends to notice stuff like that...He thought it was kind of...too much."

"You mean he didn't like them" Dad assumed perceptively.

"He said something about overkill lack of congruity clashing colors--I-I don't know. I can't tell one color from another."

When Dad chuckled, I was relieved. "I wasn't too crazy about them myself. Your mother was the one who put them up."

In the middle of showing off the repairs in the kitchen, we heard the French door open and shut. I was thankful I'd befriended someone who was not only intelligent but also clever. Perry entered the dining room soon after. As opposed to me, he wasn't just pulling on his tank shirt.

"Mr. Mulder" he said with appropriate surprise. "Didn't know you were about."

"How are you Perry? I was commenting to Fox on the repairs and yard work. He's pretty handy. When'd you learn how to do all that?" Dad asked me. "Even the creak on the veranda's gone."

"Both of us did it," I explained.

"It was the least I could do" Perry said. "You let us stay on without rent and all."

Raising his eyebrows Dad addressed Perry. "You helped Fox?"

I answered. "He took it on himself. I didn't tell him he had to."

"Well..." Dad commented. "How do you like it here?" he continued to Perry. "Aside from the excessive number of prints Fox's mom insisted on hanging on the walls that is. I think taking them down was an improvement. Are you enjoying the private beach?"

"It's right smashing" Perry replied.

"Yes it is isn't it?" Dad looked pleased. "Well let's finish looking at the rest of the house."

All I could do was follow. He bypassed the living room closet and went straight to the second bedroom. Though the door was shut the way we kept it, he wasn't deterred. One look and he turned back to us confused. "Aren't you staying in here?" he asked Perry.

"Well no," Perry said, hands in his pockets. "Fox was uneasy about having the room open so I respected his wishes."

"You mean you sleep out here on the fold-out?" Dad eyed the living room sofa. "It's pretty old. That mattress must be shot."

"It's all right" Perry shrugged. "Haven't noticed anything wrong with it."

At the guest bathroom door I wanted to slam it shut when I was reminded of its obviously uninhabited state. Because we only used it as a second bathroom it was only equipped with the barest essentials. I prayed Dad wouldn't look in the bathtub because it had to be dusty again from lack of use following the initial clean up. That Dad noticed that the towel rack and a busted tile had been repaired made me all the more nervous; he had to be wondering how Perry showered without bath towels and why there was nothing in the medicine cabinet other than Solarcaine and Band-Aids. We'd thrown out any ancient medicines from way back that Dad hadn't on his visits to the summerhouse over the years.

I should have relaxed when I saw that Perry had left the master bedroom door open. Still I couldn't keep from holding my breath when Dad looked inside. The bed was made none of our shoes were in sight and the room was relatively neat. A little neater than when I'd slipped out a few minutes earlier anyway.

Entering Dad looked around. Then glanced up at the ceiling. "I think I like that light shade better too."

Again, I caught my breath. "The one Mom put up was too low; I kept crashing into it."

"I'm sure you did." Dad continued his scrutiny. He found the broken outlet we'd replaced, the clean windowsill and looked over the dusted shelves in the built-in cabinet. Nothing inexplicable had been left out like K-Y jelly. On the chest were Perry's new glasses and a couple of his pairs of shades. God, I hoped Dad wouldn't notice the bifocals. Then there were the stack of clean towels on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. That could also seem weird.

Apparently not. He didn't so much as stare at any of it.

Then he went into the bathroom. Totally, unlike the second one, it still felt steamy from our showers with damp towels hung where we'd left them, the extra one on the floor, shampoo, washcloths, and soap plainly visible in the bathtub/shower where we'd left the curtains shoved aside. If that wasn't enough our drying razors had been left by the sink to dry. I couldn't blame Perry for not picking up in there--he hadn't had time.

Dad checked all the repairs in that room and found everything in working order even down to the previously leaky valve in the toilet tank. Before he got around to the medicine cabinet, he espied a curly blond strand of hair on the sink counter and picked it up. "You two share this bathroom?"

"Didn't matter to me," I tried. "This bathroom's bigger. I told Perry could use it any time he wanted. We both do the cleaning."

With that, Dad looked inside the cabinet where he found the toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant.

Though he didn't say anything I had to change the subject or die. "I know you came to tell us the utilities are going to be turned off. I meant to talk to you about that. See we've been working and making some money. I tried calling you a few times but I could never catch you at home."

"Working?" Dad preceded me from the room. "Working where?"

"Just doing stuff for the neighbors. Pulling weeds, gardening, washing cars, fixing cabinet doors, leaky faucets. Same stuff we did here."

At the bedroom door, he stopped and turned back to me. "I'm kind of puzzled about all this. I know he's your friend and you're trying to cover for him but his parents have plenty of money. I'm sure they have servants and he attended private--or public schools as they call them--all his life. He wouldn't sooner know how to change out a washer than you or I would know how to make a cream pie. I think it shows a lot of initiative--"

"No, no you've got him all wrong," I interrupted. "Perry's not like that. He's way different from most of the other students at Oxford. He does know how to do all that and more. He-he's amazing. He can change out the cord in an appliance, the belt in a vacuum cleaner, paint a room, tune a car engine, mow lawns--he's the one who fixed the broken glass on the French door and the tile in the other bathroom. Hell, he can cook, bake, fry, barbecue--I can't do all the things he can."

"Now son--"

"I'm not making this up. I've only stood right next to him and watched him do it. He's taught me how to do some things too. Anyway, we were wondering about staying here the rest of the summer. We're earning our own money so we can pay the utilities."

Scratching his brow Dad considered. "Well how much money can you earn?"

"We made three hundred and fifty bucks in five days working part-time."

"Really? That's not bad. It's not guaranteed work either. There aren't that many neighbors and when they run out of repairs to fix, they'll only need you once a week to cut the lawn. If you were to find some real jobs in town they may not pay as well but they'll be guaranteed work."

"What town?" I scoffed. "Quonochontaug doesn't qualify as a town. Once you take the Olds, we'd have to rely on the bus to get back and forth to Westerly. And anyway Perry doesn't have a work visa and he insists on working too. He'd rather go back to Connecticut if he can't."

Still appearing thoughtful Dad headed down the hall.

We found Perry in the pantry, the light on in there.

"Listen," Dad announced for both of us to hear. "I'm really impressed with the way you two fixed the place up and are keeping it. I've got to admit, I wasn't expecting the place to be so neat and clean. Certainly, you didn't have to do all the repair work either. I told you to call if you needed anything--a plumber or carpenter or whatever. In all this time without use, I figured there were bound to be things that would have broken down." He drew out his wallet. "It would have cost a lot of money to get all that stuff operational again if I'd had to hire professionals to come in. What I'll do is leave the utilities on through August." He glanced around inside the pantry. "I see it's kind of empty in here and you boys look kind of thin. I'll leave you some extra cash for more groceries and to go buy yourselves a nice dinner. Go ahead and keep the Cutlass another month too. By the way, you did a nice wax job on it."

As soon as we saw my dad off in his 1980 Grand Marquis, without having to say a word we raced back into the house, to bed.


End file.
